Sensible Creatures
by Maeve's Child
Summary: Pragmatism has its own rewards.
1. The Joining

_Darkspawn blood tastes as bitter as failure. It's a flavor Loghain knows well. Bitterness and unshed tears and lifetime of giving everything up only to have it blow up in his face. There's a part of him that prays the Joining will be fatal. Even as the blood sits in his mouth and slides down his throat, greasy and black and tainted, he prays for death. _

_He doesn't remember falling, but suddenly he's on his knees, his bare hands against the cold stone and his heartbeat like thunder in his ears. A earth shattering roar explodes through his head. His eyes are closed, but he doesn't remember closing them. Behind his eyelids the archdemon writhes, screams, breathes fire. Blue and violet and orange, and it burns. Maker's breath -- the fire is all around him; it's the entire world. It consumes him. _

_Prayers to die become screams – __**Holy Maker, save me!**__ – and then nothing. Darkness. And Loghain realizes it's just that his eyes are still closed. The light filters through his lids, red like blood. His blood. His heart still thrums a cadence in his chest. He lives; and Maker knows he's not sure if he's grateful or not._

_His eyes slide open. He's on the floor, on his back. He doesn't remember that either. That damned Orlesian is standing in the corner, his arms folded across his chest. He looks pleased and disappointed. Loghain doesn't know what to make of that. _

_He manages to move his eyes. __**The**__ Warden is kneeling on the floor beside him. Young enough to be his daughter, angry enough to want him dead, but Grey Warden enough to know what has to be done. Her brows are drawn together over her steely blue eyes. She's pale as milk and her expression is a mix of ice and fire. She offers him her hand and she yanks him up to his feet._

_The world wobbles a little. Then steadies. Loghain wonders if he's managing to hide how strange the world feels; if he's hiding this new horror as well as he's hidden everything else for all these years. The Warden cocks her head at him, and touches his temple with a gentle finger. She looks at it quizzically for a moment. A drop of his blood on her finger. _

_As if she hadn't been covered with it when she struck him down, and then spared his life. _

_Loghain feels the touch of her magic and he touches his own temple. His hand comes away clean. He stares at the not-blood on the tip of his calloused finger. He looks up at her. He hopes his eyes looks as cold as he feels. He's dead already; he just doesn't have the sense to lay back down, even if she would let him lay down and die the traitor's death he knows he deserves._

"_It is over," she says finally, her voice too quiet. He can't tell if she wants to kill him or, oddly enough, kiss him. "Welcome . . . brother."_

_Loghain doesn't know what to make of that either. _


	2. Quite Unexpected

Loghain wished that damned Orlesian Warden would stop staring at him. As if it wasn't uncomfortable enough, what with the feeling like his stomach had been torn to pieces by the darkspawn blood and the noise as it was. For some unholy reason _the_ Warden and the bastard prince had decided to scream at each other in the room directly above them. Loghain wondered if they had any dignity at all.

He didn't want to listen, but the words echoed off the stone walls with crystal clarity. _Duty, honor, treason_ with an over liberal use of the word _love. _

It was obvious there was an entanglement there, one far beyond the comradery of two Grey Wardens. One would have to be blind to not notice the looks they gave one another. But clearly their love was conditional. Loghain heard his own name used a few times, prefaced by adjectives that he was surprisingly unoffended by. _Traitor, murderer_ . . . well, he knew what he had done and unlike some, he was under no illusions that he was anything other than what he was.

He wasn't proud of it, but the ends seemed to justify the means. Or it had seemed that way at the time. Of course, if he'd known just who this Warden really was, perhaps he would have done things differently. Or maybe not. It was folly to debate it with himself now. What was done was done, and no amount of self flagellation would change that.

Alistair's voice rang out clearly. "There is no _us!_ Only the woman who stabbed me in the back and her pet traitor. And my soon to be _wife_ that will remind me of her father every time I look at her!"

Loghain cringed inwardly at that. Anora was his daughter and he didn't like the idea of her marrying that fool. Not one bit. But then again, Anora had ruled both Ferelden and Cailan with an iron fist; this second marriage was unlikely to be different. Anora was her own woman, and every bit as ruthless as Loghain himself was. She would rein him in soon enough, over emotional temper tantrums or not.

They fell silent for a moment. Loghain sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. He looked up again and the Orlesian was predictably still glaring at him.

"Did you want something?" Loghain snapped.

"I was just considering," Riordan replied, his strong Orlesian accent immediately putting Loghain's teeth on edge.

"Considering what?" Loghain asked.

"Exactly what your part to play in what is to come will be," he said cryptically.

Loghain sighed. He considered replying, but thought better of it. He had no interest in conversing with Riordan, Grey Warden or no. At least the girl was a Ferelden, albeit a mage. He could accept _her_ calling him brother. But despite this Riordan's claim of Ferelden heritage, the Orlesian stink was as thick on him as one born within its borders.

"I am also pondering," Riordan continued, "If you will ever be able to see past your hatred of Orlais to see the true threat that faces us."

"Do you think me blind?" Loghain growled.

"Perhaps," Riordan said thoughtfully. Before he could continue the door flung open banging against the stone.

It was her. _The _Warden, as he had come to think of her, Kya Amell. She was angry, which was not what he expected. Although inordinately pale with two bright flushed spots high on each cheek, her eyes were dry. Loghain felt a surge of respect. Perhaps the fool who was to be King had no dignity, but this one certainly did.

"We're leaving," she said tersely. "Now."

Loghain raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't," she spat. "I am quite sure it has been some time since you were expected to follow anyone's orders other than your own, but I suggest you get used to it quickly."

Loghain couldn't help but be impressed. He stood and nodded sharply. "As you say," he replied.

Kya spun on her heel and stalked out of the door, not looking behind her to see if he followed. With one last fractious glare at Riordan, Loghain followed. Behind him, he heard Riordan chuckle. Loghain gritted his teeth.

She moved with purpose, taking confident strides as she stalked through the long hall toward the door. Nonetheless, with his long legs, Loghain easily caught up with her. He looked over at her, surprised to realize she was actually rather short. She had a commanding presence, and he recalled her being _larger_ when she defeated him. Although that might have been vanity. Even Rowan had never managed to best him despite being as tall and as broad shouldered as he had been at the time. But this mage had managed it effortlessly and with far more restraint than he had expected. It was clear that she could have easily killed him, but here he was.

She did not look up at him until the doors of the royal palace closed behind them with a thump.

"Although I am certain there is room available in the city, we have a camp just outside. It will be less awkward if we go there," she said tonelessly.

"Awkward?" Loghain asked.

She snorted. "I doubt you'll receive the hero's welcome you have become accustomed to anywhere in Denerim tonight," she said. Her tone wasn't accusatory, only matter-of-fact. "Not that my companions are likely to accept you any more warmly, but they are less likely to murder you. And that's even considering the fact that one of them is an Antivan Crow."

"You don't say," Loghain replied.

"Yes," she said. She snapped her head in his direction and met his eyes for a split second before looking away again. "The Antivan Crow you hired to kill me."

"Ah," Loghain sighed. "Money well spent, apparently."

She looked at him incredulously. "Did you just make a joke?"

Loghain raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged.

She pressed her fingers against her mouth as if she was trying to prevent herself from smiling. "Wonders never cease."

* * *

Despite her warnings, her companions, with the notable exception of the old mage, looked at Loghain with more curiosity than malice. He recognized the Antivan elf, just as he suspected he would. The elf, for his part, looked faintly amused by Loghain's presence although he was clearly distressed by the state Amell was in.

Loghain had a feeling there was an entanglement there that Amell herself wasn't aware of.

He'd taken to thinking of her as _Amell_ instead of _The _Warden during their walk from Denerim to the camp. He expected it might be rude to only call her by her title, if he intended to fight at her side. That was what she spared him for, after all. He wondered if that was appropriate, since the Warden left their names and their old lives behind.

He was once Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane. Now he was simply Loghain. Yet he couldn't bring himself to call her by her name. It seemed somewhat too familiar, after all that had happened. By using her family name (did mage's have families?) he tried to remind himself that he didn't know _her_ at all. She'd become a nemesis to him in the last year, even before he _knew_ her name. But all he really knew of her was what Howe had funneled to him, and he suspected that impression was more fiction than fact.

Howe. Loghain was glad he was dead. The weasel had led him down dark paths he'd never expected to tread. He thought of the carnage that snake left in his wake, all in Loghain's own name and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. Once upon at time, Loghain had been worthy of being called a noble, despite his common blood. Not anymore. But none of that mattered any more. Grey Wardens only looked forward, not back. Whatever he'd done, whatever he might have deserved, he was a Grey Warden now. For good or ill; there was no turning back.

Loghain looked up through the flames of the camp fire. It was very late, but the fire burned brightly with orange and yellow tendrils licking the logs. Tiny embers arced up into the cool, still air. Amell sat opposite from him, her face equally lit and obscured from him by the fire. The rest had long since retreated to their tents, leaving Loghain and Amell on the first watch. Clearly neither of them would be ready to sleep for some time; they might as well be useful.

Loghain knew himself to be a reticent and generally uncommunicative man. He had learned to be more forthcoming in recent years, but it was still against his nature to break a silence, even one as blaring as this. Yet there were things that needed to be said. Things that must be brought into the open and dealt with before they reared up at an inappropriate time that would embarrass them both.

He had no idea where to begin.

"So," he said finally, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, "Why did you do it?"

Her eyes snapped up to look at him. The fire was reflected in them, hiding what he recalled as grey-blue in a haze of orange. "Did what?" she asked.

"Spared my life," he said dispassionately.

"It seemed like the sensible decision at the time," she replied, her tone equally flat. "Four Grey Wardens are somewhat more useful than three. Although it appears that three is all we will have, despite my decision."

"Yes," Loghain said abruptly. He paused for a moment. "That wasn't entirely unexpected, was it?"

"I suppose not," she replied. "I had hoped Alistair would be more practical minded, after all that had happened." She laughed bitterly. "There's my reward for trusting an overemotional, noble-minded fool, I suppose."

Loghain snorted. "Maric's son after all," he commented, seemingly to himself.

"Is he now?" she replied, clearly not expecting an answer. "I think I knew what would happen. I saw how he reacted to my other more _pragmatic_ decisions in the past." She sighed. "It honestly doesn't matter. Besides, there are things that I can do freely now that I have been erroneously neglecting."

"Such as?" Loghain asked.

"Such as blood magic," she said bluntly. Loghain's eyebrows raised at that. She gave him an icy smile. "Maleficarum," she said.

"I would expect it would not be wise to use such a skill in the presence of a Templar, or ex-Templar, as the case may be," he said.

"Yes," she replied. "And now I can unleash all my power against the archdemon."

"What of the circle mage that follows you then?" he asked.

"If she wishes to press the issue, I'll use her life force to power my spells," she replied brusquely. The look in her eyes was very cold indeed. Loghain recognized the expression. He'd worn the same one often enough.

"Fair enough," he said. "It would be highly inappropriate for me to make any comment about the means you use to achieve your goal."

"Yes, it would," she said tersely. "Seeing as I had to kill nearly every mage and Templar I ever knew due to your schemes."

"I confess; It was entirely my idea that Uldred consort with demons. I had a dastardly scheme in which the utter destruction of Ferelden's best weapon would benefit me, personally," Loghain said with the ghost of a smile.

She raised her eyebrows this time. "Humor," she said quietly. "Not what I expected."

"No?" he asked. "I am sorry to disappoint you."

"It's not disappointing; it is rather a surprising and welcome turn of events, actually," she said. She looked amused. "It might be pleasant to speak with someone, other than Morrigan, who appreciates sarcasm. However I had heard that it was difficult to get you to string more than a few words together, which seems to be untrue."

"That is, under normal circumstances, quite true," Loghain said. "But oddly enough, I find it agreeable to speak with you. Which is as unexpected as anything else is."

"Yes," she said. She gave him a long, strange look he couldn't read. It wasn't so different than when she first spoke as he roused after the Joining. It was a curious combination of expression he expected he did not have the emotional complexity to understand. Or perhaps he did, but had spent so many years burying his own feelings under layers of duty and ice that he had forgotten.

"Yes," she repeated. "Quite unexpected, all of it."


	3. Painted Skyball

At the bottom of her pack, Kya found a small silver flask. She opened it as Loghain spoke, detailing his suggestions for tactics in the battles to come. She sniffed the liquid inside before taking a sip. It was what was left of the home brewed ale they'd found in Honnleath. It had a sweet earthy taste, but it tingled like magic on her tongue. Mage's ale. What did she expect?

"I believe the key is to not try to engage the horde directly," Loghain continued. "You have managed to assemble some impressive numbers, but we are still outnumbered at least three to one."

"I agree," she replied, wiping a drop of ale from her lower lip. "I was considering trying to find high ground for mages and archers, try to pin them down while the bulk of the army comes around from behind. Split their numbers in half." She considered. "Although that means they'll be fighting on both sides."

"True enough," Loghain said. "But wise. It will allow us and Riordan the time needed to reach the archdemon." He sighed. "Likely much of the army will have to be sacrificed, but I see no other way."

"Neither do I," Kya agreed. She held out the flask to Loghain and he eyed her dubiously. She gave him a tired smile and stood, coming around the side of the fire to hand it to him. He accepted the flask and took a drink. He made as if to hand it back to her, but stopped abruptly and brought the flask back to his face. He inhaled. A puzzled expression washed across his face.

"This is familiar," he said. "Where did you come across this?"

"In Honnleath," Kya explained. "Where we found the golem, Shale. It belonged to a wizard, apparently. A wizard with a penchant for brewing ale. We had nearly an entire barrel, but Oghren made short work of it."

"A mage with a golem?" Loghain said. He looked thoughtful. "You don't happen to know his name, do you?"

"Wilhelm," Kya said. "I met his son."

Loghain chuckled. "Wilhelm. That squirrely bastard. I thought this seemed familiar." He almost smiled at the flask. He held it up in a silent toast before taking another swig and handing the flask back to Kya. She looked at him questioningly for a moment, but then a realization dawned in her eyes.

"Andraste's flaming knickers," she said, sitting down next to Loghain. "He was _that_ Wilhelm. I can't believe I didn't make the connection."

Loghain frowned. "You've heard of him?"

"Of course," she said. She took another long drink from the flask before pushing the stopper back into place and rolling it in her hands. The firelight glinted off the silver, highlighting the myriad of scratches and dents in it's surface. The ale burned down her throat, leaving a mildly fuzzy sensation in it's wake.

"I didn't expect to ever taste that again," Loghain said quietly. He sounded oddly wistful. Kya felt an urge to look over at him, but she kept her eyes on the fire. There was a stretch of discomfiting silence. Loghain cleared his throat. "So tell me Amell, how do you know of Wilhelm?" he asked.

"Kya," she corrected him. "Not Amell. That name is gone."

Loghain looked uncomfortable. Then he shrugged fluidly. "As you wish," he said. "But you did not answer my question, _Kya_."

Kya chuckled. "The Circle tower is boring," she said. "And when you cannot leave it in body, one finds other ways to travel. There is always the Fade of course, but it is perilous. And you can't sleep all the time. So I spent many hours in the library, living vicariously through others." She paused, thoughtfully running her thumbnail over the surface of the flask. She made a hushed sound, something like a sigh, but not quite. "I know more about you than you think."

"Is that so?" he said. The words were accusatory, but his tone was not.

"Well, what history records, anyway," she continued. "But . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"But what?" Loghain asked.

"Nothing," she sighed. "I haven't had enough ale to just start asking inappropriate questions of the Hero of River Dane."

"It's just Loghain now," he said brusquely. "So ask away."

"I don't think you really appreciate how odd all of this is for me," she said, looking up at him over her shoulder. She blushed embarrassingly and looked away quickly.

"Apparently not," he said.

Kya opened the flask a took another drink. She offered it to Loghain again. He looked at it with a far away expression but waved her off. She stoppered it and set it on the ground at her feet.

"There is much debate," Kya said. "At least among the scholars who's accounts I read, about your motivations and your actions."

"Is there?" he asked. "Since I was there, I have never bothered to read the tales they wove about us. What do they say?"

Kya looked up at him again. He was looking at her earnestly, but his pale blue eyes were cold and hard. There was a wall behind those eyes. The lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows deepened.

"They say that you were Maric's closest friend," she started. "And he was yours. But they also say that for the first five years of Maric's reign you never once came to Denerim. Some say you were simply rebuilding Gwaren, and starting a new life and a family. But there are other opinions."

"Seven," Loghain replied. Kya looked at him questioningly. "It was seven years."

"Hm," she hummed, but didn't continue. There was a story there, clearly. Seeing the look on Loghain's face, she wasn't sure that just coming out and asking for it would be effective. There was another long silence. In the distance, she heard Oghren snore and snort before breaking into a fit of coughing. Keiran, her Mabari hound, raised his head at the sound, but only blinked a few times before resting his head back on his massive paws. Oghren mumbled something that sounded like a curse and was still again. They were left with only the music of the crackling fire.

"I am not sure the truth is what you would want to hear," Loghain said finally. "Nor am I certain I wish to dredge up the past."

"I didn't intend to pry," Kya replied. "It's only . . . ." Despite feeling pleasantly warm from the ale, she couldn't finish.

"Only what?" Loghain asked. "Although it is fair if you do not reply."

Kya smiled sadly, watching the flames as they danced over the logs. The fire seemed to sputter a bit and she murmured under her breath. The fire leapt high again. She took a deep breath, and felt inordinately stupid. Usually, she was a confident woman, but Loghain made her feel like an inept child. At least now that her anger had worn away.

"Do you recall our meeting at Ostagar, before the battle?" she asked.

"I do," he said. "And later, I was surprised to discovered it was the young mage girl I met with the acerbic tongue that was causing so much havoc."

"Havoc?" she asked, giving him a sarcastic smile. "You could call it that, I suppose. But my point is. . . ." She paused and took another breath. "You are probably so used to the reaction I had that you did not even notice."

"I was rather preoccupied, at the time," he said.

"I can imagine," she replied. "So let me refresh your memory then. I was frankly in awe of you. I had read everything I could about Maric the Savior and the Hero of River Dane. _Everything._ And there I was, standing face to face with him. It was a humbling experience, to say the least."

Loghain gave a short, bitter laugh. "Awe, is it? I never understood it, not even a little."

"Can't you?" she asked. "You were born a commoner, and lived as an outlaw to the Orlesian government. You rose up from the humblest beginning to _save_ us. Perhaps my life as a mage was less free than most, but without what you did . . . not only at River Dane, but helping return the Circle tower from an Orlesian plot years later. . . . You were a symbol that one person could change the world."

Loghain snorted, but didn't speak.

"After Ostagar," Kya continued. "I wept. Not only for all those that died, but because it turned out you weren't invincible and perfect after all."

"I never was, nor did I claim to be," he said bitingly. "Is this the part where you are going to berate me for quitting the field and accuse me of regicide?"

"No," Kya said quickly. "You couldn't have won that battle, I know that now. Severe though it may be, your decision was the correct one. Tactically, anyway."

"I expect there is a '_however_' required here," he said.

"Yes, I expect there is. _However,_" she said. "It was sad to realize that you were just a _man_ after all."

"A man indeed," he said. "No more, no less."

"Oddly," she continued. "I find it comforting now. Since I am only a _woman_, and not a hero. But if a mere man could rout the Orlesians from Ferelden, perhaps a mere woman can actually defeat the Blight."

"I get the distinct impression that you are _not_ a mere woman," he said. "I have known great women in my life, and you are their equal."

"I find that hard to believe," she replied.

Loghain sighed. "And now it appears I will dredge up the past after all." Kya looked up at him again, disturbed by the look on his face. She recognized that look and it chilled her to her core. It was the same expression Jowan's face had when she told him they'd taken Lily to Aeonar. A look as if the only thing worth living for was gone and all that was left was pain.

"There's no need," she said.

"There is," Loghain said. "And perhaps it is time that it is said. It was _known_, by some perhaps, but never spoken of. I have only said these things once, to Maric. And only because I knew if I did not, he would sink into despair and be of no use to anyone ever again."

He looked away from her and looked up at the sky. Kya followed his gaze. Stars glittered against the blue velvet of the sky, silken wisps of clouds weaving delicate patterns in the expanses between. The moon was bright, but small and tinted the faintest blue. It was beautiful, but it looked so distant. Not so much unlike Loghain's eyes. She caught herself looking at him; his proud profile, the way the firelight lit his ashen skin in shades of orange and gold. He was so still, he could have been made of stone.

He closed his eyes, and she realized his eyes were framed with long and surprisingly thick black eyelashes. Which was an odd thing to notice, she thought. Pointedly ignoring her gaze, he slowly inclined his head forward again, staring into the fire with a blank expression.

"If I am understanding, I do not have explain the dry facts of those days to you," he said ultimately. "So I will tell you instead what history did not record."

"If you wish," she said.

"I do not," he continued. "But I must. It is hard to say aloud, even now. I am not a man that finds it easy to speak of _emotional_ matters. Perhaps if things had been different, but then history would be different, and I expect I would not be speaking with you at all now."

He sighed again. "Maric was my King," he said. "And my friend, although there were times that I wanted nothing more than to forget that. He was quite literally dumped into my lap, along with all his complications and I did the only thing I could. I had ample reason to hate the Orlesians, long before I fought them with the rebels. But we spent years running and hiding and just trying to survive. And things happened that I never could have expected.

"Rowan Guerrin was Maric's betrothed. I knew this from the day that I met her. But I was young, and foolish. And Rowan . . . she was a formidable woman. In many ways, she was the strongest person I have ever known," he said. "She was a spirited warrior, a brilliant tactician and utterly beautiful and worthy of far more devotion than Maric ever was able to give to her. I . . . loved her." His voice caught in his throat.

Kya discovered she was staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Of all the things she expected he might say, a declaration of love was not it. All the pieces of the puzzle came together so fluidly in her mind. All the questions she'd had about _why_ Loghain had done all the things she'd read about . . . so many years, seven as he said, away from Denerim, but then spending nearly the rest of his life not returning to Gwaren, except to bury his wife. A wife he did not see but for a few occasions for the last eight of fifteen years of marriage.

Loghain still stared blankly into the fire. "And yet I was the one who insisted that she uphold that promise of betrothal when the time came, although both she and Maric had accepted it was no longer required of them. Ferelden needed her; Maric needed her."

"What about you?" Kya asked. "Didn't you need her as well?"

"Perhaps," he sighed. "But you of all people should understand my choice." Loghain looked over at her. If Kya hadn't known better, she would have thought his eyes were damp. "Am I wrong, or do you not love _him_?" he asked.

"Alistair, you mean," Kya said. She felt a pang of regret in her belly as Alistair's face flashed behind her eyes. It had been easier to forget she loved him when she was so angry. But the late hour and the ale had blunted it now. Kya's chest felt hollow. "I suppose I do, although it is absolute madness. But it is not the same, I can see that clearly enough."

"Isn't it?" he asked. "Did you put him on the throne for your own benefit?"

"No," she said. "I did it for Ferelden."

"Then it is the same," Loghain said. "Those of us that are strong must do what others cannot. Even if it means giving up _everything._ Dying for what you believe in is easy, living with it is not always so."

Loghain was silent then, turning away from her back to the fire. Kya too looked into the flames, willing herself to forget the nights she'd sat here beside Alistair instead. He had been the foil to all her dark thoughts, chasing away of lifetime of morbidity and melancholy pondering. The man who sat beside her now was far more like her, she realized. He too took all the pain the world had to offer and stuffed in down inside, wrapping it in iron bands and forgetting that under all that weight, even a heart as determined as theirs could be crushed.

Kya felt distinctly crushed. But she never expected anyone would ever truly understand how she felt. But clearly Loghain did.

She glanced back at him just in time to see a single tear slide down the sharp corner of his cheekbone and land silently on the silver of his armor. The droplet glittered against the metal like a star.


	4. The Kindest and Most Horrific Thing

The silence that followed was far less uncomfortable than Loghain anticipated. He expected more questions or accusations even, for his uncharacteristic foray into over-emotional sentiment. But Kya didn't say a word. She simply sat beside him, unflinching and staring into the slowly dying flames. Likely her mind wandered the same never ending labyrinth of _what if_ and _what might have been _that he'd walked in his mind for more years than he cared to count.

It wasn't until the big, stoic Qunari woke to relieve their watch that she finally looked at him again. He expected pity. Instead, her expression was again a confused jumble of compassion and surprise and understanding, or at least that's what he could make out. Loghain had never been wise in the ways of women; which was sincerely from a simple lack of experience.

As he made his way to his tent, he pondered the sad fact of that. Nearing sixty, and in a position that he frankly could have had any woman he desired, he never took advantage of it. Rowan. His long suffering, and never really appreciated wife. And no others beyond that.

He fell asleep with a pang of regret that he thought he'd moved past. Thirty years is long time to build a wall. It should be as strong as any ancient castle; thick blocks of stone that if they had weight would take a dozen strong men with levers just to angle into place. Yet it felt as if one conversation, shrouded in forgiving darkness, cracked the mortar he'd invested a lifetime into.

* * *

Sleep was an incredibly poor idea. Loghain's only solace when he woke in a panic, covered in cold sweat, was that he managed to not scream aloud.

She warned him. Of course, more conceit on his part to think that he'd be too strong to be bothered by a mere dream. Loghain couldn't recall the last time he even remembered a dream. But like was proving to be true, she was right. And he should trust her; which in and of itself was an incredibly foreign concept to him. He'd learned that trust was weakness. The only one he could trust was himself.

Loghain attempted to compose himself, and wiped away the remnants of his stale sweat with his discarded shirt. Through the canvas of the tent, he could hear the astonishingly pleasant and familiar sounds of the camp. He had thought he was done with skulking through the wilds, living under canvas. Despite his body reminding him that sleeping on the ground was going to take some getting used to again, and even with his heart just slowing as the nightmare images faded, there was comfort in that sound. Loghain had never really felt at home behind the stone wall of his estate and the royal palace. They were just a prison of sorts, with bars made of duty, responsibility and regret.

There was a freedom here he'd almost forgotten.

The sunlight was grey, but bright and he blinked at it. He realized he was hoping to see Kya standing outside. The thought concerned him for a moment, but he wasn't given time to debate it with himself. Instead, the old mage, Wynne was glaring at him as if he might leap out in a murderous rampage at any minute. Any amiable, half reminiscent feelings he had evaporated under those accusatory eyes.

Immediately irritable, he snapped at her, "You can stop scowling at me, madam."

"Did I need your permission?" she replied scathingly. "I see."

Loghain growled, but refused to dignify her with a proper response. Maker help him, but he wasn't going to get caught up in more petty bickering. Mastering the urge to throttle her, he squared his shoulders and walked into the trees towards the stream he could hear trickling in the distance. He could feel her eyes burning holes into the skin between his shoulder blades.

He sighed. Trying to keep his temper in check, he walked slower than he wanted to. Now was not the time for any indignation on his part. He wasn't particularly keen on the idea of any of this, but he had never shirked in any duty in his life. He'd only tried to walk away from responsibility once, and perhaps he regretted that he had not. But the never-ending obligations had made him who he was, and there was no changing that.

It had been a rather pathetic existence.

He discovered Kya crouched down by the stream, cleaning blood from the breastplate of her armor. It did peak his curiosity that a mage wore plate to rival his own, but he hadn't asked. Kya was silent at first, her hand dipping water onto a cloth and then rubbing it against the plate smoothly and efficiently as if she'd done this a thousand times before. A branch broke beneath his foot and she stopped.

"I hear you," she said, without looking back. For moment, he was thrown back into his own memories. Another formidable woman had once said the same thing to him, when he slipped up on her while she washed blood from her armor. It was in the Deep Roads, true, not in a bright forest, but the coincidence could not be denied. He was young then, and she . . . he felt an uncomfortable _squeeze_ in his chest.

Kya turned around. He must have looked stricken, because her brow furrowed. Leaving her armor on the ground, she stood and stared at him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and he immediately crossed his arms over his chest. She frowned.

"Of course," Loghain said testily. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

She pursed her lips. "Well then," she said, picking the pieces of her armor up, stacking them over her arm. The dragonbone plates made a dull click when they touched each other. She took a few steps toward him and paused, still frowning. It was clear that whatever emotional sense he lacked, she had. Loghain felt like he was completely transparent under the gaze of those eyes.

Gingerly, she touched the bare skin on his forearm. Loghain felt the urge to flinch away, but he held his ground.

"Don't be too long," she said. "We have a long way to go today."

With that, she slid her hand back to the top of the stack of armor and walked away. Loghain glanced at her over his shoulder, almost expecting her to look back at him and say something irritatingly female. But she didn't.

Dignity. It radiated from her like heat.

Loghain was _certain_ he had no idea how to feel about it.

* * *

They took the North Road out of Denerim, and it took everything Loghain had not to comment. Taking the West Road would be a far more efficient route to Redcliffe. But there was an undeniable finality to the way Kya walked, so he held his tongue.

The complete lack of conversation as they walked seemed forced and uncomfortable. On occasion, he could hear half muffled snippets of conversation behind him. The soft lilt of the Antivan and the grating tone of the bard's voice. Her Orlesian accent nearly gave him fits.

His head was throbbing like dwarven smiths had taken up residence inside his skull.

He walked behind Kya and the witch. They walked rather close together, speaking rarely but communicating nonetheless. Loghain had often wondered at that singularly female ability to speak without words. Kya wore her plate, and the witch wore next to nothing. It was indecent, but everything about her seemed glaringly indecent. She moved like a wild animal, all sinew and grace, and it appalled him. Even more so because there was no denying her beauty.

He was still a man after all, as Kya had reminded him.

He didn't realize the witch had slowed her pace, until she spoke and he found she was walking beside him.

"You are much taller than I expected," she said simply.

Loghain scowled at her. "Am I? You expected me to be short?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "You are also younger than I imagined. Great generals are supposed to be old men who sit far from the battlefield."

"I have never been, nor hope to be, a great general then," he snapped in reply.

She laughed. "No? I suppose that explains your loss at Ostagar, then."

Loghain gaped at her. Before he could devise a suitable reply, Kya spoke.

"Morrigan," she said. Her voice was sharp as a sword.

The witch gave a half hearted titter, and sighed. "Yes, yes," she said. "Tis inappropriate conversation, I am sure."

Kya glared at her.

"Not at all," Loghain growled. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to how we could have bested them? I am sure that your extensive tactical abilities far outweigh my own."

"Stop," Kya said. "_Please_. This isn't helping anyone."

"Oh, I don't know," Wynne's voice came from behind him. "I certainly would like to know Loghain's reasoning for his fortuitous retreat. And his negligence that led to the death of his own son-in-law."

"Would you suggest that I sacrifice all of Ferelden's armies for that sake of one man?" he spat at her.

"He was your _king!_" Wynne said, the volume of her voice rising sharply.

"What you forget is that your king was beyond saving!" Loghain shouted. "The darkspawn would either have had him or have had us all. Do you really believe we would have been so much better off had I chosen otherwise?"

Wynne's face flushed. "And what of all the soldiers who died with their king? Their lives were worth nothing to you!"

"You think so, do you?" Loghain replied between gritted teeth. The pounding in his head was as loud as a drum. "I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families.

I do not know how you mages determine the value of things, but they were my men. I know exactly how much I lost that day!"

Wynne opened her mouth to speak, anger suffusing her lined face.

"Enough!" Kya shouted. Wynne scowled at her, but fell silent. Loghain felt vindicated for a moment, but she grabbed his elbow, and dragged him away from the rest as if he was a petulant child. If his head hadn't hurt as much as it did, he would never had let her. She could be the senior Grey Warden here, but there was a level of indignation he was not willing to stand for.

As it was, he discovered he was having a hard time keeping his feet under him.

Once she'd moved them sufficiently away from the others to not be overheard, she spun to face him. She looked as if she might explode, but the anger drained in a flash.

"Maker's breath," she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. He lifted his hand to push her questing fingers away, but found he didn't have the strength to stop her. The tips of her fingers felt like ice. "Andraste's ass," she swore. "You're _burning_."

Loghain felt the sweep of her magic wash over him for the second time in as many days. The throbbing in his head fled. Cautiously, he took her hand and moved it away from his face. Her fingers weren't cold. He looked down for a moment, shocked by the strange sensation of her skin against his. He dropped her hand abruptly and looked up at her.

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.

Loghain grunted. "Stubbornness?"

"Pride," she sighed. "It'll be the death of you yet, I suspect."

"It is likely," he agreed. "But since it hasn't done the job today, perhaps we should move on?"

She shook her head at him. Normally, he expected he would be incensed by such a display; as if he was a child who didn't knew enough to come in out of the rain. Instead he felt amply chastised.

Kya gave him a crooked half smile. "Yes, let's."

* * *

When Lake Calenhad came into view, Loghain realized why they had taken the North Road. The Circle tower loomed in the distance, silhouetted by the setting sun. They finally reached the docks, just as the ferryman was tying up his boat for the night. Kya tried to talk him into taking them across the lake, but he wouldn't be swayed. She also tried to acquire rooms for them at the dingy little inn perched on the shore, but the door was barred and no one responded to her knocking. Instead, they set up camp at the lake's edge.

Loghain was impressed by the quiet efficiency with which they set up the camp. He supposed it wasn't that unlikely, considering they had much practice, but somehow he realized he still thought of them as a ragtag band, undeserving of respect. That sentiment seemed to be equally abundant on their behalf.

After his earlier outburst, no one had deigned to speak with him. And of that he was pleased. If they would leave it, so could he. He had entirely enough rehashing to last for the next thirty years.

The air was cold, but not as cold as the water. Loghain's head felt clear, but he was still angry. There was a part of him, that part now tempered by years of trying to survive at all costs, or perhaps it _was_ that same part, that wished he had walked away from duty long ago. How much indignity could one man stand? He was irritated. And it was entirely too familiar.

He cupped the cold water in his hands and spilled it over his head. The droplets soaked through his hair and ran down, soaking into the neck of his shirt. It was a completely unpleasant sensation, but he did it again, as if physical discomfort might blunt his other frustrations.

"I hate this lake," he heard Kya say behind him. He turned to face her, water dripping from the braids on either side of his face onto the bare skin of his neck. He resisted the urge to shiver.

"Then why, might I ask, are we here?" he said, with more irritation than he intended.

Kya didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were riveted on the faint shadow of the tower in the distance.

"Because some things won't wait for the Blight to be over," she said. "And there is something I need to do before I go rushing off to my death."

"Such as?" he prodded.

Kya sighed. "I need to attend an execution," she said. She looked at him pointedly. "And I think you should attend as well, since his blood is on your hands, as much as mine."

Loghain frowned, but didn't reply.

"Perhaps you remember Jowan? The blood mage you sent to poison Arl Eamon?" she asked. Her tone was amazingly flat. "Greagoir stayed his execution until I could be there. Which is possibly the kindest and most horrific thing he's ever done."

"Yes, that," Loghain said, looking away from her. "I take it you knew him?"

"Yes," she replied. "He was my best friend."

"Ah," he said. "More crimes I've committed."

"Not this time," she said. "Jowan brought this on himself. It would have ended this way for him eventually. And for me as well, had I not become a Grey Warden."

Loghain sat down hard against the stone. He had nothing to say to that. Maker knows, he had no right to judge her for her choice of magic. But the Chantry and the Circle thought themselves judge and executioner for maleficarum. Their justice was harsh, even by his standards.

"But yet you go willingly back into the tower, although if they knew what you are, your head would be on the block next to him, Grey Warden or no?" he asked.

"I owe him that much," she said, settling down beside him. "He was my friend. Perhaps a poor friend, but a friend nonetheless."

"Such is friendship," Loghain replied. "I know that feeling well enough."

Kya looked over at him. Their eyes met and Loghain again had the distinct sensation that she could see right through him. He wondered what she saw, because he had no idea. It had been a long time since he'd looked.

She reached out a hand towards him and he pulled back abruptly. She seemed unperturbed by it, and grabbed one of his damp braids. She frowned at it, deftly untied the threads at it's end and began to unwind the strands of hair.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She kept her eyes on her fingers, a strange wistful look on her face. "If you leave them like this," she said, "All wet and such, I'll have to heal you again in the morning. Besides, they are probably half the cause of the headache as it is. Well, that and your temper."

Loghain almost smiled. Almost.

Once the first braid was unraveled, she reached for the second one. Her knuckles grazed his cheek. She looked intent as her fingers moved. She seemed entranced. The second braid fell apart faster than the first. She reached up and raked her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes. He honestly couldn't remember the last time a woman had touched him like this. He wasn't sure if one ever had.

He opened his eyes. Kya was staring at him and her face was very close. The faint moonlight reflected on her pale skin, in her eyes. He blinked. She gave him a sad smile and pulled away, getting to her feet.

Loghain looked up at her. "Thank you," he said quietly, completely unsure of how to react.

She turned away and took a few steps. "You're welcome," she said, without turning back. He watched her go. He ran his fingers through the loose strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ears.

Loghain had no idea what had just happened.

Perhaps he had finally gone mad after all. For a moment, she was beautiful. For a moment, she looked at him and saw a man he thought was dead.


	5. The Phylactery Chamber

The rocking of the little boat made Kya feel sick. She couldn't recall ever riding in the boat to the tower and feeling like she was going somewhere she actually wanted to be. No matter which direction the boat was heading.

She had expected that Wynne would have insisted on coming with her. But the old mage hadn't said a word, and once she saw Loghain climb in the boat beside Kya, she turned away. They sat without speaking as the shore faded, the gentle swish of Hester's paddles through the water the only sound besides the wind and waves.

Kya lifted her chin and refused to shiver. It was her idea, after all, that they leave their armor behind and try to appear as unthreatening as possible. Greagoir wasn't ever happy to see her, and she couldn't imagine he was going be happy to see Loghain either. They all blamed Loghain as much as they blamed Uldred for what happened at the tower.

Kya was fairly certain it was a very bad idea to bring him with her.

She did have an ulterior motive for that. And not out of some twisted sense of justice either. She wasn't stupid; she knew Loghain had seen enough death in his life that the execution of one mage wasn't likely to move him. What she did know was that his presence would be enough to stop her from having a pathetic emotional outburst once the deed was done.

Or at least she hoped so.

She glanced at Loghain out of the corner of her eye. He was staring out across the water, frowning as it seemed he always did. She could imagine what he was thinking, and much of it was probably irritation at the detour for _personal_ matters, especially when there was a war to be fought. But to the Black City with him, if he was going to judge her now.

A gust of wind whipped across the boat, making it rock precariously. Kya grabbed for the rail of the boat with one hand, and the seat behind her with the other. Loghain apparently had the same reflex, because his hand quickly came down on the seat, half over the top of her hand, gripping it tightly before he realized she was there first. She expected he'd have let go immediately if another wave hadn't come and rocked the boat in the other direction, sending her sliding over against him. She had a temporary wash of relief at the fact that neither of them was armored, since that might have tipped them out of the rickety excuse for a boat completely. Kya _knew_ her skin had gone a completely horrifying shade of green.

Hester gave a little laugh and looked entertained. The man was lucky she didn't bring her sword.

As the waves finally returned to their normal sickening seesaw, Loghain slipped his arm out from between them. Kya half expected him to push her away, since there was nowhere further he could move. And frankly, that was the only way he was going to get her to move, because the thought of sliding back towards the edge of the boat made her stomach flip.

Instead, his arm slid up around her shoulders awkwardly, as if he was completely unfamiliar with such a friendly gesture. Kya turned her head slowly – fast would have cause breakfast to reappear – and looked at him. He was a bit paler than usual, but instead of irritation, he actually looked concerned. Well, maybe a little anyway.

"Are you alright?" he asked. It sounded like he was trying to be comforting, but it came out as a mix of annoyance and anxiety. Kya nodded mutely, and he patted her shoulder like she was a wayward Mabari.

She still didn't think she could move. Not only did she have no interest in getting closer to the water, but Maker, he was warm. And she felt like her blood had all gone to ice. Before it had a chance to get any more awkward than it already was, the boat scraped up against the pile of stones that served as a dock at the base of the tower.

Kya's stomach cartwheeled, and it had nothing to do with the movement of the boat. But she was damned if anyone was going to see it. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat – it was probably some disgusting mix of her heart and her breakfast – and she tilted her chin up defiantly. Loghain stood up out of the boat as if he'd been here dozens of times and offered her his hand.

She looked at it and wondered if he'd take it as a sign of weakness if she accepted. But then again, crashing into the lake and having to be fished out was a touch more mortifying, so she accepted and let him help her up. She was glad for the touch of his hand, warm against the frozen landscape of her fingers.

Kya squared her shoulders and took a long, deep breath to calm herself. It was pointless, but it was the sort of thing someone was supposed to do. Of course, any sane person wouldn't be here at all, under the circumstances.

She did not want to do this.

She did not want to see Jowan die.

But despite that, she stalked forward with mock purpose towards the heavy, distasteful doors to the tower.

* * *

"We are keeping him in the cellar. Near the phylactery chamber," Greagoir barked. "If I recall, you know the way."

Kya gave him a blistering look. "Then I assume I don't need an escort?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice.

"No," he replied sharply. "We have added more runes to prevent the use of magic there. Neither Jowan or _you_ are any threat." He looked smug. "But," he added, "He is being guarded by my Templars, so don't expect a private reunion."

Kya tried her best not to growl. "Yes, I'm sure," she said tersely. "I expected nothing."

She gave Loghain a look over her shoulder, and stamped away from Greagoir towards the stairs leading to the cellar. The main door was open for her; there was no need for a rod of fire this time. A pair of Templars stood on either side of the door, both in helmets, looking for all the world like a pair of metal golems. Which they were, essentially. But they did not stop her or even bother with a look in her direction as she opened the door. She heard Loghain's footsteps behind her.

"I have a feeling," Loghain said quietly, though his voice echoed in the long stone hallway nonetheless. "That you have a history with the Knight-Commander."

Kya snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "At least not for my part. He has some convoluted idea that my following the First Enchanter's instructions was a form of malicious sedition. Although I expect it might make his tiny brain explode if he tried work out why."

Loghain gave her a questioning grunt.

Kya slowed until she was walking beside him. "I betrayed Jowan's plan to escape the tower with his lover to Irving," she explained. "And Irving sent me to help them find and destroy Jowan's phylactery anyway. He wanted to make sure Jowan's lover – a Chantry initiate – was punished as harshly as he was going to be."

"Hm," Loghain said. "That's cold; but _just_ in my opinion. If one of his was to be punished, it is only fair that his accomplice in the deed also pay for her part in it."

"That was what I told myself," Kya said. "Although I'm not sure I believe it."

Before they could speak further, they turned a corner to find two more Templars. These were without their helmets, looking distinctly unhappy about being posted so close to a blood mage, magic neutralizing runes or not. And one also looked distinctly familiar.

_Andraste's bloody flaming sword. Cullen. _

As if things could get any worse.

He didn't seem to recognize her at first, but when he did, all the color drained from his face.

"Kya," Cullen spat. She thought he might have spit on her literally if he hadn't been too dignified to do so. She'd seen him angry before, when she refused to summarily murder the remaining mages with Uldred in the Harrowing chamber. But that paled next to the expression in his eyes now.

"Cullen," she replied, hoping to diffuse his ire. "It is good to see you."

"I doubt that, mage," he snapped.

Kya frowned at him. "Well," she said. "At least you got over the stutter."

Cullen's hands clenched into fists. "Yes, I have. The cold hard truth of what _you mages _really are will do that to a man." He turned his eyes to Loghain. "Watch her closely, if you dare to travel with her," he continued, clearly unaware of who Loghain was. "Don't let her pretty face fool you, she's a mage and they are the most dangerous _things_ in all of Thedas."

Loghain looked unimpressed. "I am not worried, Templar," he replied. His voice was cold. "And I will make my own opinions, thank you."

"Make all the opinions you want, ser," Cullen said. "They'll do you little good when you are her thrall."

Loghain barked a laugh.

"Laugh if you will," Cullen growled. "I will, for one, not be fooled again. I'll see every mage in this tower dead before I let one get to me ever again."

"Cullen," the other Templar said. There was a warning in his tone. He was an older man and Kya couldn't for the life of her remember his name. "You know what Greagoir said. Any more threats and you'll be guarding the privies."

Cullen gave him a scathing look, but held his tongue.

"He's in there," the older Templar said, looking back at Kya. He looked more sympathetic than she expected, or wanted. At least Cullen was honest about what he was. Or at least what he had become now.

"Thank you," Kya said. Giving Cullen one last look – he refused to meet her eyes – she walked between them into the sullen darkness of the cell row. They were all empty, save the one at the end. There was hardly any light here, just the flickering of a torch in a bracket on the wall. Even the magical lamps they used wouldn't work here.

She could just make out the hunched silhouette of a man sitting on the slab of a cot against the wall. He was turned away from the bars, slumped down and as still as if he was already dead. Every part of Kya wanted to turn and scream out of the tower, but she steeled herself and took the last few hesitant steps to the bars. She laced she fingers against the cold iron. Her knuckles went white. She knew Loghain was right behind her, which was the only thing keeping her voice steady enough to speak.

"Jowan?" she said softly. The hunched figure flinched at the sound of her voice. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he turned around and stood on unsteady legs. He took a few steps out of the shadows, the half light of the torch finally touching his face.

This was a shadow of Jowan. He was thin, painfully thin. His lower face was covered in a thin, sickly looking beard and there were deep purple smudges under his eyes. He blinked at her like she might be a cruel trick of his mind.

"Kya?" he asked. His voice was rough from disuse.

She nodded, not sure she trusted herself to reply aloud. He stepped forward again and slowly raised his hands. Hesitantly, he wrapped his fingers around hers where they clung to the bars.

"It's time then?" he asked. She nodded again. His eyes met hers finally; pale grey ghosts of the eyes he used to wear. "Thank the Maker," he whispered. He swallowed. "I am glad you are here."

"I . . . I had to . . . I had to come," she stuttered. "I owe you this much, at least, for what I did."

Jowan shook his head. "No, it's not your fault. I see that now," he said. "I forgive you." He managed to worm his fingers under hers, pulling them through the bars. He pressed her hand against his face. His skin was as cold as hers was. He gave her a sad, resigned smile and kissed the palm of her hand.

"You are the closest thing I ever had to a sister," he said. "And I can go to the Maker knowing that you will be the last thing I ever see."

Kya choked back a sob. "Jowan," she said. "I am so sorry it had to come to this."

"Does it have to?" Loghain asked. She had almost forgotten he was there. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. "Could you not do for him what you did for me?" he asked. "You are a Grey Warden, after all. Do you not have the Right of Conscription?"

"I do," Kya said, shaking her head and turning back to look at Jowan. "But I know he wouldn't survive the Joining."

Jowan smiled wanly. "Not any more than I would have survived my Harrowing, had they given me one," he said. "I know that now."

Kya stared at Jowan. She memorized his face, each curve and plane, the sad look in his eyes and even the errant locks of hair that spilled on his forehead. He was her friend, and her brother. He was the only apprentice that never looked at her like she was just an arrogant, over-confident bitch. Even if her arrogance was well earned, and well placed, only Jowan seemed to realize it.

No matter what it was going to kill inside of her, she was going to make damn sure he had his final wish. She would be the last thing he saw when he died. And Maker spit on anyone who tried to get in her way.


	6. Expect No Mercy

_A/N Sorry. Language._

_

* * *

_

Her pacing was driving him mad. Not only was the incessant back and forth making Loghain feel like they were still on that Maker forsaken boat, but the air had taken on a distinctive coppery smell. The scent of blood. And Loghain was certain that was not a good sign when you were trapped in a very small room with a very angry blood mage.

The sadistic Templars were making them wait. And wait they had, most patiently, Loghain thought. But enough was enough. They had arrived at the tower not long after dawn and it was now closer to sunset. If he hadn't been so used to the seemingly never ending hurry and wait of Ferelden politics, he expected he might be pacing as well.

The tang of blood rose sharply. Loghain was going to have to distract her, and soon, if he valued his continued breathing. He wasn't completely sure he did, at that, but if he was going to die, he did not want it to be at the hands of Templars coming to strike her down for practicing blood magic in the Circle tower.

It occurred to Loghain that he would do just that; he would put himself between Kya and any Templar who got a funny idea. And that was a very interesting turn of events in the mind of a man that had once paid a large sum of gold to have her murdered.

"Kya," he said finally, deciding it was best not to ponder that realization too deeply. "If you do not stop pacing I . . . ."

"You what?" she snapped. Loghain raised an eyebrow at her, but was secretly pleased as the scent of blood in the air faded a bit.

"I don't know," Loghain said with a ghost of a smile. "I'll think of something, but I promise I won't bother hiring the Crows again."

"I . . . I have nothing witty to say to that," she replied. She frowned and sat down hard on the stone bench beside him. She was quiet for a moment, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. "I still can't believe you did that," she said, still looking at her hands. "It seems so beneath you."

Alright then. If belittling him was going to distract her best, so be it. Loghain was suddenly very concerned about his own sanity. But she was looking at him then, pointedly, waiting for a reply.

"It was," he said finally. "I'm not proud of what I did. But I thought it was necessary, at the time. I saw Cailan about to hand Ferelden back to Orlais, and the Grey Wardens seemed quite willing to do whatever he asked. What else could I think?"

She stared at him.

Loghain was never one to back down from a decision once it was made. Granted, the assassin wasn't a decision he'd actually made himself. But he wasn't about to behave like a mewling child and point the finger at Howe, even if the scheme was of his devising. It was just one more thing he let happen, even when he knew it was wrong. He was more than willing to kill in a fight, face to face, with his own life hanging in the balance. But poison and a blade in the back was just wrong. And he knew it.

He knew it then, and he knew it now under the blue gaze of those wide eyes. It took every ounce of self discipline Loghain had not to look away.

"Now that you know who the last of the Grey Wardens are," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you regret it?"

Loghain felt the blood drain from his face. _How do you answer such a question? Is there a right answer? _He'd never been one to care what anyone thought. He did what had to be done. He'd always done what had to be done.

Hindsight was a cruel, heartless bitch.

"I honestly don't know," he said eventually, although he wasn't entirely sure it was the truth.

"Ah," she said softly. She looked away. Loghain gratefully closed his eyes. He thought that if he listened closely enough, he might hear the sound of breaking stone.

The door swung open on silent hinges and a shaft of light spilled in, lighting up the dust in the air like sparks.

"It is time," Greagoir said.

Loghain opened his eyes to see Kya slowly rise to her feet. Her face was still and emotionless. She nodded at Greagoir and the light from the doorway spilled across her face and lit up the strands of her hair to a brilliant golden copper. She looked to him like a proud marble statue of some ancient thing. She looked like what he imagined Maric's mother, Queen Moira, might have looked as her Banns turned on her in cold blood.

Proud and unwilling to concede.

Loghain came to his feet behind her. He had a sudden urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he stopped himself. He followed as she swept out of the room, the hem of her robe brushing plumes of dust from the stones beneath her feet.

He realized the hem was tattered and much mended. His eyes slowly tracked upward as they walked. There were many patched holes in these robes; several on her upper back and her shoulder. Small jagged holes that had been sewn shut again. It occurred to him that these were the self same robes she was wearing the day he met her at Ostagar. And those holes were likely from darkspawn arrows, as she fought her way to the top of the tower to light the beacon.

The beacon he had ignored.

Loghain had noticed she did not have scars on her flesh to go along with the holes in her robes. Magical healing must have sealed those wounds as if they'd never happened. But he could see that she had many scars, nonetheless. Just as he did.

His were on his skin and in his soul.

He couldn't begin to imagine where she kept hers.

* * *

"Jowan," Greagoir began. "You have been found guilty of practicing blood magic. As the Knight-Commander of the Circle of Magi's Templars, I brand you maleficarum. The sentence for this crime against the Maker is death."

"I understand," Jowan replied.

Loghain looked over at Kya. Her eyes were riveted on Jowan's; he could almost feel the connection between them as if it was a tangible thing. No more strong than a thread of spider web, but he could feel that she would be bound to him forever by this.

Greagoir nodded sharply. The pair of Templars at Jowan's sides took his arms roughly and brought him to his knees. They laid his head against the heavy wooden block, sweeping the length of his stringy hair away from his neck. Despite the position of his head, Jowan still kept his eyes lifted, searching for Kya. She knelt down until she was face to face with him.

A third Templar, this one with a black band tied around each arm, stood behind Jowan and lifted his sword. Unbelievably, Kya smiled at Jowan; she smiled like the light of the Maker himself. Jowan's eyes lit up, and his mouth opened slightly. Kya pressed her fingers to her lips, and then pressed them against Jowan's face. Tears spilled from his eyes.

"May the Maker have mercy on your soul," Greagoir said with brutal finality.

And the sword fell.

It fell in one swift, methodical motion. The horrific sound of steel meeting flesh and bone leapt up and a mist of blood flew through the air like rain.

Jowan's head rolled until it was against Kya's knees.

Loghain expected screams. But instead, she gently kissed her fingers again, heedless of the blood and touched Jowan's cheek one last time. Loghain swore that he would never look at her the same way again.

Slowly, she rose to her felt. He almost expected her to stumble, but she held her ground.

"It is done," Greagoir said.

She nodded. Her face was grim. Very grim indeed.

"Yes," she said, her voice steady as the stone walls of the tower. She turned towards the doors and took a few careful steps. Then she stopped and turned again, as slow as if she was moving under water.

"And now I am free of you all," she said. "You will _never_ see my face again. This I swear."

And with that, she spun on her heel. The hem of her robe flared out behind her, red and gold and soaked in blood.

She told Loghain that she'd been in awe of him when they met. He knew _exactly_ how she felt.

* * *

"Andraste's dirty . . . .cunt!" Kya screamed.

The boat was on the other side of the lake. Loghain could just barely make out the glint of a Templar's armor through the mist, a pair of them it seemed. Between them there was a tiny figure that could have only been a child.

Another mage for the tower it seemed.

Kya stomped back and forth, pacing again. "This is just my sodding luck," she spat. "It's hardly a dramatic exit when I have to wait for the sodding _boat!_"

Loghain was entirely more amused than he should have been. All that quiet awe was bound to make him rethink his place in the world. But Kya stomping her feet and cursing like a pirate was more than a little interesting.

She spun to face him, pushing a finger into the middle of his chest.

"And you," she snapped. "What are you smirking at?"

Loghain raised an eyebrow. He hadn't realized he'd looked as amused as he felt. He was losing his touch.

"Do you think this is _funny_?" she said. And she was deadly serious. Loghain felt his amusement dissolve. "Are you really the sick sodding _fuck_ that everyone thinks you are?"

"Kya," he said firmly.

"What?" she said, the pitch of her voice rising.

"This isn't going to help," he replied. "Trust me."

"What do you know?" She pushed both hands against his chest. "How could you know how I feel?"

Loghain frowned. "I _do_ know how you feel." He paused and waited for her angry reply, but none came. "When Maric was lost," he continued. "I refused to believe it. I was angry at the entire world for thinking that he might just die in the sea. Maric couldn't die."

Kya just stared, but her hands clutched at the front of his shirt. He could feel her short nails poking him through the thin fabric.

"But eventually, I had to accept it. Being angry didn't make Maric live," he said. "It just made me a fool."

Her hands clenched tighter.

"And do you know what I did then, once I accepted that my friend, my brother, my _King_ was dead?" Loghain said. "I wept. Like a child. And I am not embarrassed to admit it."

Kya's chin trembled, just a bit. If he hadn't been staring at her so intently, he might have missed it.

"Did . . . did it help?" she whispered.

"No," he admitted. "But there was nothing else I could do."

Loghain watched her closely. He was completely at a loss as to what she was going to do. She behaved like a madwoman, at times. She made decisions he couldn't understand, yet they seemed to always turn out to be the right choices in the end. He had a few ideas about what she might do, but the last thing he expected was what she finally did.

She crumpled up against him, burying her face in her hands where they still grasped his shirt.

He didn't move at first. No one came to Loghain Mac Tir to be comforted. Occasionally, he knew the right thing to say, but when it was time for tears, he was always the stoic watcher. But instinctually, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and felt hers finally release their death grip on his shirt, slipping around his waist. She buried her face in his neck, and he tilted his head up, setting his chin on her hair.

Her hair smelled like blood and despair. And of all things, Andraste's Grace.


	7. The Sun and The Moon

"Is it because we're bad people?" Kya blurted out as Loghain opened the door. He stared at her, dubious and frowning.

"What?" Loghain asked. Then he sighed and opened the door completely, letting her in. Kya could feel his questioning eyes on her back as she padded past him. She heard the soft click of the door behind her.

She turned to look at him and realized this was a very bad idea. All of it was, in fact. They'd returned from the tower to find that Leliana and Zevran had managed to break into the little inn once they realized the innkeep wasn't returning. Fled north to avoid the darkspawn, they assumed. Oghren was disappointed that Felsi was gone as well, but he consoled himself with the barrels of ale that had been left behind. They made themselves at home.

That wasn't a great idea.

The inn was small, only a few rooms. They'd all doubled up, but saved a private room for Kya and another for Loghain. Kya's for privacy or mourning, she assumed. And Loghain's? So no one was tempted to kill him; that from Zevran's lips. But it was the first time, in a very long time, that Kya had been left alone. And she did not like it, one bit.

She should have welcomed it, but she grew up in a place where they slept twenty to a room. Then a year between camp and battle, and a new warm presence in her bedroll that was now coldly absent.

Kya was lonely. But she could have gone into the bar, to drink with Oghren or argue with Wynne. She could have even slipped into Zevran's bed; he certainly wouldn't have turned her away. She could have let Leliana comb her hair, as she seemed so fond of doing. She could have found Morrigan, and learned more from Flemeth grimoire. But instead she found herself barefoot and dressed in some white nightgown she'd found in a chest, looking for all the world like an innocent child, in Loghain's room. He was staring at her like she had gone mad.

This was a terrible idea.

But at the moment, Kya didn't care. She let out a sigh, and sank down on to the rug in front of the tiny fireplace. She tucked her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

"I just wonder sometimes," she continued. "If when terrible things happen, if maybe we don't deserve them."

Loghain snorted. "Like some punishment from the Maker, I suppose?" he said. He sounded decidedly annoyed. "I think you spend too much time with the Orlesian bard."

"She's rather hard to avoid," Kya sighed. "And I think she might have a point."

She looked up at Loghain through her eyelashes. He was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace with his ankles crossed and his arms folded over his chest. His dark hair was damp and hanging loose around his stern face.

"So," he said. "What is it that you've done that you think merits punishment?"

"Do you want a list?" Kya sighed. "That could take a while."

Loghain gave a short bitter laugh. "Perhaps just the highlights then."

"I betrayed my best friend and it led to his death," she started. "And I did it, I think, because I was angry that he had learned blood magic and hadn't taught me." She took a breath. "I helped put a fratricide on the throne of Orzammar, but not before giving a tool to a madwoman that would allow her to steal souls to make golems. Just because golems would make fighting the horde that much easier," she continued.

"Rather sensible, actually . . . ," Loghain began.

Kya cut him off, "I helped a band of cursed werewolves slaughter a clan of Dalish elves. And yes, they will be welcome in the fight, but I think I did it mostly because the elves were rude." She made a bitter little sound.

"And?" he prodded.

"Well," she replied, frowning. "I . . . _deflowered . . ._ a Templar, or at least an ex-Templar."

Loghain grunted. "That's hardly a crime."

Kya looked at her hands. "I'm also rather much a bitch," she said quietly.

"That also," he said. "Is hardly criminal." He crouched down beside her. She heard the joints in his knees crack. It was an oddly comforting, and yet disconcerting sound. It made Loghain seem a bit more real than she was sure she wanted him to be.

"I imagine that if we are to compare crimes, yours pale in comparison," he said, leaning back on his hand to sit down next to her. "And yet I am still alive."

Kya looked up at him. "Isn't that a bit of a punishment in and of itself?"

"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps not. I haven't decided yet."

Kya didn't reply. She realized she been hoping for condemnation, or at least agreement, and she wasn't going to find it here. Loghain was quietly staring at her.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Why am I fighting the Blight?"

Loghain looked amused. "No, that bit I understand; The Taint, Grey Warden, save the world, and so forth," he said. "Why are you _here? _With me, when your friends are all waiting to console you?"

"Because they are all _dying_ to console me," she groaned "And even after all of it, even after . . . well, they look at me like I'm some kind of sodding hero." She sighed again. "I have no idea how you could stand it."

Loghain made a non-committal noise, but his message was clear enough. He _couldn't_ stand it. Never had.

"And you don't," she said.

Loghain seemed to be considering. "Would you prefer that I did?" he asked.

"Maker's breath, no!" Kya said. She gave a slight, wry laugh. "I can just see it, you'll call me _my lady_ and bow. It is kind of a funny picture, actually."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. "In case I ever feel the need to harass you." He shook his head and rubbed his temples.

Kya frowned. "Am I giving you another headache?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh, not at all," he said, looking up at her warily. "Habit I suppose, after having a dull headache for the last five years." He looked uncomfortable for a split second, but he seemed to swallow it. "Actually, it appears you were right, at least in part."

"Oh?" she asked, looking at him closely. "Oh." It occurred to her that he hadn't braided his hair again. She wondered how she hadn't noticed until now. "At least I'm not completely useless."

"Don't," Loghain said sharply.

"Don't what?"

"Muddle into more self-recrimination," he said. "_That_ is what is useless. Trust me, I've tried it and it doesn't help anything."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, looking back at her hands. "I just . . . I don't know. I'm exhausted, but the thought of sleep makes me ill." She glanced back at him. There were dark smudges of violet under his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, and Kya expected she did as well. "I sorry, I should go, I'm sure you need to sleep."

Loghain shook his head. "I suppose, but I have no burning desire to enter the Fade," he said. His voice was strained. "You were right about that as well."

"Nightmares," Kya said.

"Yes," he admitted. "It's worse than I expected."

"I'm sorry about that too," she said. "Since I forced that on you."

"Would you rather I was dead?" he asked perfunctorily.

Kya's head snapped up. "I . . . ," she said. The room felt suddenly very warm. "Of course not."

"Then don't apologize, since death was the only other option," he said. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his palms casually. "Although I haven't yet decided if it was a _good _idea or not."

They were quiet for a while then. Kya was surprised at how _not_ uncomfortable the silence was. She'd never managed to just sit with someone without one of them having to fill up the quiet with platitudes. Not even with Alistair.

The thought of him gave her a strange hollow feeling in her chest, like a drop of water falling in a cold, empty cave. It had only been a few days, after all. Yet, there was a part of her that had known all along that it was always going to be temporary. He was Ferelden's king, by blood. And Kya knew exactly how powerful blood was.

"Do you think Alistair will make a good king?" she asked quickly.

Loghain gave her a cold look. "Perhaps," he said. "If he isn't too foolish to take council from Anora." He gritted his teeth. "Because on his own, he is _weak_. All the Banns know it. It won't be long before they are clamoring for concessions. If he isn't careful, the throne will become no more important than a farmhold."

"Hm," she said. "You are probably right at that. He is easily influenced."

"I expected as much," Loghain said. "I didn't fight against his claim because of some twisted desire for my own power. I fought him because Ferelden doesn't need another King as foolish as Cailan."

"He isn't like Cailan," she said. "You know, he actually agreed with you about the battle plans for Ostagar, well, before you . . . changed your mind, anyway."

"Did he?" Loghain looked surprised. "Perhaps there is hope for him after all. I do pray that there is, although I expect nothing."

"Did you . . . ," Kya began. "Ah, never mind."

"No. I thought we were past this," Loghain prodded. "Ask your question."

"Did you plan all along to leave Cailan and the Grey Wardens on the field? Was that always what you intended to do?" she asked and wondered if she sounded as shocked by her impertinence as she felt.

"I planned for the worst," he said simply. "But I hoped for the best, right up until the end."

"That's oddly comforting," she said. They were quiet again for a moment. Loghain seemed to be pondering something painful. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"I suppose you think I'm some sort of monster," he said.

Kya furrowed her brow. "I don't think you're a monster," she said. "I think the same thing that I did the first time we spoke about this. I think that you were the Hero of River Dane, and _my _hero, for a very long time. I think the worst thing you did was the one thing you couldn't help."

"And what is that?" he asked.

"Being only human, only a _man_, after all," she said. "All of Ferelden had you on a pedestal. It was a long way down to the ground with the rest of us mere mortals."

"If you do this thing, defeat the Blight," he said. "Be careful that they don't do the same to you." His voice was bitter and cold. "It _is_ a long way down."

"Does it hurt?" she asked. "Falling from grace?"

Loghain just looked at her. Kya watched him carefully as his face flickered through a myriad of subtle emotion. That wall he had, the one behind his eyes that made them look so much like shards of ice, it _wavered._ She expected him to frown, scowl or take on another familiar expression. But instead, the lines on his face relaxed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, just a bit. He suddenly looked like a young man; not the Hero of River Dane or the Teryn of Gwaren, or even a bitter and resigned Grey Warden. He looked like man with thick dark hair veiling a long chiseled face and intense blue eyes the color of a clear winter sky.

He looked rather handsome, in fact.

"Not at all," he said finally. "It's a relief, actually. So instead of you apologizing, I should thank you."

"For what?" she asked.

"For giving me a chance to have a life of my own, albeit a short one, considering the taint," he said. "Since the day Maric stumbled into me in the forest, haggard and blood soaked and terrified, my life has belonged to someone else. And although the chance is slight indeed, if I survive Archdemon and the hoard, I will have a life that is my own."

"You will still be a Grey Warden," Kya said softly. "There is duty there as well."

"Just so," he said. "But it is a duty that is black and white. There is a clear line that I can defend. That is what I want. There are no questions there."

"_By any means necessary,_" Kya said, "Is not as cut and dry as you might think."

"No, it never is," Loghain replied. "But the ending is clear. And with the darkspawn, the ends will always justify the means. Guilt can be damned, if the other choice is watching Ferelden be swallowed up by the taint."

"Well," she sighed. "You're welcome, then."

The corner of Loghain's mouth finally curled up. It was more a smirk, than a smile, but it looked far more sincere than any other expression she'd seen from him thus far. More than that, Kya was surprised at just how good that smile made her feel. It didn't take a genius to know that Loghain was not a man for whom smiling came easy.

Kya once thought that Alistair's smile was as bright as the sun. She supposed it was; bright and golden and good. Loghain's smile was more like the moon appearing from behind a cloud. It occurred to her that as lovely and warm as the sun was, you couldn't stare at it long or it would blind and burn you.

But you could spend an entire night gazing up at the moon.


	8. A Proper Woman

Loghain watched as Kya laid down on the floor on her belly, propping her head up on her hands to stare into the dying embers in the fireplace. It was very late, and he knew he should send her back to her own room and attempt, no matter how futile it would be, to sleep. But she seemed too content, just laying there in the warmth of the fire.

It was the oddest thing in the world, this.

If someone, if _anyone_, had told him that he'd feel so comfortable in the company of a Grey Warden, _The_ Warden, he would have thought them completely and utterly insane. But here it was. Kya wasn't the only one who looked content. He imagined he did as well.

Perhaps he understood his own fascination; she had managed to best him at every turn. She'd done what no one else had ever done, and he no longer had to be the one to _fix_ everything. But he honestly had no idea why she would deign to speak with him at all. Stories about some fictional _hero_ were all fine and good, but it must have been clear to her by now that he wasn't the man in those stories. Those were myths; he was far too real.

"So tell me," he said as she turned her head to look at him. "Of all the stories in that library, of which I'm sure there are many, why mine? Or the semblance of my story, at least."

Kya looked baffled. "Why not?"

"I'm sure they put a gloss on the tale, but it is just history," Loghain said.

"Is it?" she asked.

"I see your point," he replied.

"Why do you ask?" she said, rolling over on her side and resting her head in the crook of her arm. Her legs curled up a little.

"I just expect I'm rather . . . _disappointing_ in comparison to those stories," he explained. "Yet here you are. You've hardly let me be since we left Denerim." Kya sat up abruptly. Loghain realized how that must have sounded, and it wasn't what he intended.

Her lips thinned into a sharp line. "I wasn't aware it was a problem," she said sharply. She started to stand.

"Wait," he replied, feeling the fool. "That's not what I meant."

She sat back down and glared at him again.

Loghain sighed, "I just wondered why." He frowned. "I'm certainly not the most personable or tactful in the company you keep."

Kya frowned again. When she did, a little line appeared between her fair eyebrows. Loghain discovered that he found it endearing, and it worried him more than a little.

"I thought we'd been through this bit already," she said. "Or was all my gushing really that unclear?"

Loghain was confused. _Gushing?_

She seemed to read the puzzlement on his face as clearly as if he had spoke. "You didn't think as a teenage girl I was in awe of your tactical skills, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Holy Maker, you need me to come out and say it?" she laughed. "As if it isn't ridiculous enough left unsaid." She was blushing, and Loghain didn't have the slightest idea why.

"Apparently," he replied. "Because I haven't a clue what you are getting at."

"You have a daughter, don't you?" she asked.

"Last I checked," he said gruffly. "Although I don't know what that has to do with this."

"She was a child once, yes?" she said. She paused, but when he said nothing she continued. "And now she's Queen. Don't you remember any of the time between child and woman?"

Loghain snorted. "I remember she was very moody," he said. "And I spent a lot of time trying to prevent her from . . . _consummating_ her budding relationship with Cailan before they were married. I also . . . oh." He stopped short.

Loghain felt like an idiot.

"Oh," he repeated.

Kya grinned. "Yes, that."

"Well," Loghain said, completely unsure how to deal with this admission. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"Don't get too concerned," she said, embarrassed. "That was a long time ago, and like you said, you aren't quite the same man in those tales."

"I suppose not," he said. "And if that's the case, it doesn't explain anything."

"It explains why I spoke to you to begin with, anyway," she said quietly. "And after that, well, you are interesting and sensible. Do I need another reason? Why do you speak with me, after all?"

Loghain wondered at that himself. "You have a point." The room suddenly felt very small, and Loghain felt distinctly lecherous. The idea that she might . . . it was entirely beyond good taste. She was younger than his daughter. The mere thought was just _wrong_. But she was still looking at him. Her head was tilted to the side a little and it occurred to Loghain that in the emotional state she was in . . . she was so vulnerable right now . . . .

_No. _

He had never been one to indulge in such things and he wasn't about to start now. He was also more than a little annoyed by the thought of taking another Theirin cast off. He clenched his teeth. He was _tired_ of being the lesser man.

He stood abruptly. Kya frowned again and he prided himself on ignoring it.

"I think it is time we both tried to sleep," he said brusquely. "It is a long way to Redcliffe, and there is little time."

"There is at that," she said, following his lead and coming to her feet. She looked somewhat disappointed, although Loghain assumed that was more his own vanity than anything else.

He walked to the door and opened it, looking back at her pointedly.

"Goodnight Loghain," she said quietly. She stood too close, just for a moment, looking up at him. She was close enough that he could have counted the little flecks of grey in her blue eyes if he'd desired. He could have kissed her, and he had the peculiar impression that she wouldn't have objected. He stepped back.

"Goodnight Warden," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. She frowned at that, hard. With a little sigh, she turned and walked out.

Loghain closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, running a hand through his hair. He stopped, and held forward the length of hair that he'd always braided back to keep it out of his face. That was until she unwound the strands and apparently took rather a large portion of his sanity and resolve with it.

Before he could sleep, there was something he needed to do. _Headaches be damned_, he thought as he roughly began to braid his hair. He felt the familiar pull against his scalp, and thought he could already feel the beginning of a headache coming on. A headache he was used to.

This other _thing_ he was used to as well, and it was far more painful.

* * *

They traveled with haste. A battle awaited and Loghain was glad of it; he wanted nothing more than to find something he knew how to handle. All this sentimental musing was not in his nature. He did whatever he could to avoid it. He was also more than a little angry with himself, and the idea of venting his anger on the darkspawn was very appealing.

He hadn't expected he'd get his wish quite so soon.

Redcliffe was overrun, but there certainly were not enough darkspawn to account for the entire hoard. There were not nearly the numbers here to even compare to Ostagar. He knew the darkspawn had not been laying about; they'd been building their numbers in the last year. Something was deadly wrong.

Nonetheless, the fighting was satisfying. It had been too long since he been able to _fight_. Not skulk and plot behind closed doors. He was splattered with blood and gore, he was bruised and battered from a blow he'd taken from an ogre. He was exhausted and irritable and filthy. He finally felt like himself again, for the first time in a very, very long time.

And Kya. Well, he had further proof that she'd held back when she fought him at the Landsmeet. He wasn't sure if he should be impressed or offended. She did things with her magic that he hadn't even realized were possible. The sheer level of gore was staggering.

She also seemed as adept with the sword strapped to her back as with her spells. Which was more than a little impressive. No affectation; the heavy plate and shield both emblazoned with the Grey Warden griffon. He realized he'd never seen her wear that particular armor before, but the shield he recognized. The bastard prince had it strapped to his back when he'd marched into the Landsmeet.

Apparently, when Alistair said he was leaving the Wardens, he was more serious than Loghain expected. Despite the fact that he thought it rather childish, it did prove that the boy had something of a backbone after all.

It was a nice idea; Loghain only hoped that Alistair might have as much of a spine when dealing with the Banns.

Loghain looked around the courtyard of the castle. It was strewn with darkspawn bodies and shed blood. Kya was talking animatedly with a haggard looking guard. She too was spattered, from head to foot. He watched as the blood drained from her face making the spots of red on her pale skin all the more pronounced.

"Come," she said loudly, her companions snapping to attention. Loghain snapped as well, which only surprised him after he'd already done it. "Riordan is here, and has news."

Loghain felt his blood heat again at the sound of the name. The _Orlesian_ Grey Warden. _Wonderful._

Swallowing his distaste, he followed Kya inside and held his tongue. There was no strategy that would be effective here. The hoard was marching on Denerim and the only answer was to strike at them with everything they had, hopeless though it might be. It was going to be the sort of battle Cailan would have loved. Loghain felt the tiniest pang of regret at that. The first he'd felt since the deed was done.

He looked over at Kya with indignation. _What was this Maker damned woman doing to him?_

* * *

Loghain was alone, finally. The room was hardly more than a closet, but it was warm enough and quiet. Despite the huge throng of men outside, it was almost too quiet. The calm before the storm, as it were.

He should have been asleep, but it alluded him. He polished the blood from his armor until it glowed. Then he took to pacing like a caged animal. If he kept it up, by the time the march came, he'd be useless. He sat down on the bed and stared blankly at the wall.

He closed his eyes. And opened them again quickly.

What he wouldn't have given for a pleasurable nightmare about darkspawn. He sighed, vexed with himself. But still, even after chastising himself a dozen times over, every time he closed his eyes, _she_ was there.

He thought he would be beyond such nonesence. Not that he hadn't the same experience with Rowan. But if loving Rowan had taught him anything, it was that sentiment and duty did not belong in the same man. There was no living with yourself when you tried to have both.

It was foolishness. And it didn't matter.

Riordan had told them in no uncertain terms that the three of them would not all survive the archdemon. That didn't bother him. If he was given the choice, he'd end the foul thing himself, and all of _this_ could finally end. How much could one man survive? How much pain and betrayal and rejection could be held inside of one heart before it just . . . stopped?

Loghain was tired. And it wasn't the exhaustion of body that tugged at him. He was weary in his very soul. He'd had enough. He'd seen enough. There was nothing in the world left for him but more pain. His own stupidity had seen to that.

He wished he could have loved Celia. His wife had been everything a man should have wanted after all. She was beautiful and kind, she was compassionate and delicate. She had proper feminine interests and grew roses in the garden. She closed her eyes and thought of the Maker when he bedded her.

But Loghain failed spectacularly in that. He tried, Maker knows, he tried. But he wanted more than a _proper_ woman. He desired a woman who was not his lesser and needed to be protected, but his equal. Strong, intelligent and temperamental. He wanted a woman who was passionate, but practical. Someone who knew the cost of freedom, and was still willing to pay the price.

A woman like Rowan. Or a woman like Kya.

The two women in all of Thedas that had caught his eye and seemed to worm their way behind his carefully guarded gates. Two women who were very different, but still much the same. One, of noble blood who could have become a flower behind a stone wall who instead became a fearsome warrior and a ruler of renown. The other raised in a stone cage, but when the time came, she had not shirked her duty and fought tirelessly to end this Blight. Even when it meant she had to fight _him_ at every turn. Instead of cowering or compromising, she defeated him. And he knew she would see this to the end, even if it meant her own destruction.

Two women with hearts of steel and resolve of stone. Two women that were his equal, and worthy of more respect than he could offer them. The two women in all of Thedas that he could never have.

There, in the flickering light of the candles, alone as he'd always been, Loghain prayed for death.


	9. An Arduous Task

"You have _got_ to be sodding joking, and it isn't funny Morrigan," Kya said.

"Tis no joke," Morrigan replied.

Kya gave her a long look. Morrigan was silhouetted by the fire, her sleek form highlighted on the edges with gold. Yet there was just enough light to see her face and there was no mirth in her yellow eyes. She was deadly serious.

"Why aren't you talking to Loghain about this?" Kya sighed. "Why ask me?"

Morrigan laughed. "Because I doubt he would listen to me," she said. "But you could _order_ him to do it; he is bound by his oath to obey you."

Kya rubbed her eyes. She had been so tired and so heartsick when she stumbled back to her room, but now she was more awake than she had ever been. Her heart thudded in her chest.

"You have many good reasons to save your own life," Morrigan said quietly. "And perhaps even a reason or two to save his."

"He'll never agree to it," Kya moaned.

"No?" Morrigan replied. "I think he might."

Kya gritted her teeth. "Fine, I'll go speak with him, but don't get your hopes up."

Morrigan had a strange half smile on her face, but said nothing.

The distance between her room and the one they'd given to Loghain was small, but each step seemed to take a great effort. Kya finally found herself staring at the closed door. She knew he was inside, and Morrigan was right, there were many compelling reasons. But as she stood there, she felt a pang of something behind her ribs that felt suspiciously like jealousy.

But why wouldn't he? He was a practical man, and if there was a way to have less of a sacrifice, then why would he _not_ take it? Besides, Morrigan was beautiful and desirable to men – Kya wasn't blind after all. And neither was Loghain. Yes, he seemed to have no interest in Kya herself, but that was hardly surprising.

Kya knocked. The sound was entirely too loud and she looked up quickly, hoping there was no one there to see her. Slowly, the door clicked open. Loghain stood on the other side and he looked like hell.

"Loghain," Kya said softly. "We need to talk."

His jaw was clenched. He gave her an irritated look. "I'd ask if it could wait, but since we can now count our remaining lives in hours, I suppose it cannot."

"It can't," Kya said. "And that is what I want to talk about actually. Can I come in?"

Loghain gestured her in and closed the door behind her. When she turned to face him, his arms were folded across his chest. His face was cold and closed. His eyes were bloodshot.

"What if I told you there was a way for no Grey Warden to die tomorrow?" she asked.

"I'd tell you it doesn't matter," he replied. His words were clipped. "If it comes down to it, let me do it. I have . . . much to atone for."

Kya closed her eyes. "And if you fall before then?"

"Then you will do what you must," he said.

"I would at that," she replied. "And I will if you are there or not."

"What are you saying?" he asked. Kya wasn't sure it was possible, but he did look paler at that.

Kya turned to look at the wall; she couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't have any burning desire to sacrifice myself, but I don't want you to die Loghain."

He laughed, bitterly. "It might be a relief to do so."

Kya spun around. "What happened to 'a life of my own'?"

Loghain had nothing to say to that.

"Look," she continued. "You may even like what I'm proposing. I need you to take part in a magic ritual."

"And?" he replied.

"And you need to sleep with Morrigan."

Loghain frowned deeper. "I see," he said. He didn't sound impressed or interested at all. "And what kind of ritual is this exactly?"

"I won't lie to you, it will create a child." Kya forced herself to hold his gaze. It wasn't easy. His eyes were no different than the day they had first met at Ostagar. Cold and unnerving.

"What?" he said, once he found his tongue. "A child with me as the father and the swamp witch as a mother? Why would she want such a thing?"

"Perhaps you should ask her yourself," Kya replied. Loghain tuned away from her. His hand darted out and grabbed the post of the bed. He dropped his head.

"Is this an order?" he asked her, without turning back. "I am bound to obey."

"No," Kya said softly. She paused and discovered her hand was already reaching out toward him. She paused just a hairbreadth away, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of his shirt. Her hand was trembling.

She set her hand on his back softly, and felt him tense.

"I won't force you to do this," she said. "It is your choice."

"My choice," he said. He still wouldn't face her, and her hand still lay on his back, unmoving. "And this ritual will ensure that no one must die to slay the archdemon?"

"Yes," Kya replied. "Not you, nor I."

He turned around slowly and Kya dropped her hand to her side. He stared at her for a long time. Kya expected to feel dissected under his gaze, but it wasn't like that at all. He blinked quickly a few times and closed his eyes.

"What does it matter if I live?" he asked. He looked up again and met her eyes.

Kya wanted to say something, but found that she could not. She just stared at him. She did not want to die. And even more, she did not want him to die. For a long time, she had said she did, but even then she had a hard time actually believing it. Loghain had occupied her thoughts for a long time, and now that she had come to know him, he had occupied her thoughts even more. She really didn't know if it was any different than the fascination she felt for him when he was just a name in a book. But if certainly felt different. Slowly, a tear welled up and spilled down her cheek.

Loghain watched it. She could see his eyes move as it tracked slowly across her face. Normally, she would have been mortified. But Loghain had already seen her tears. What was one more?

His eyes met hers again for a split second before he snapped his head up. "Fine," he said sharply. "Let us go speak with the witch and get this over with, before I come to my senses and change my mind."

Kya followed. He moved woodenly, but with large, seemingly confident steps. Kya stared at his back, and felt very small. And not because he was tall or broad, but because she couldn't decide if it was more selfish to let him go through with this or to die. Because those were her choices, after all. She wouldn't let him take the final blow. Atonement be _damned._ She would not be the cause of Loghain's death.

Of course, she already was. The Taint flowed through him now. She could feel it inside of him. And it would be the death of him, one way or the other.

"I see your talk is done," Morrigan said perfunctorily as they came into her sight. "And what is your decision?"

"Loghain has agreed to your . . . request," Kya said softly.

"Wait," he snapped. "First I want to know about this child."

Morrigan hummed in the back of her throat. "Honesty wouldn't have been my first choice."

"I want to be certain that this _child_," Loghain said, the word dripping like venom, "Will not reappear to harass my daughter and Ferelden. I do not want a little brother to appear and make claims upon her throne."

"Of that, you can be certain," Morrigan replied. "The child will not know of her father, and I will never return to Ferelden."

"So be it," he said. He sounded more like a man heading to an execution, than one headed to a bedchamber with a beautiful woman.

"Then let us find somewhere more private, Loghain," Morrigan purred. "This will not take long at all."

Loghain made an indignant sound. "You have great confidence in your _abilities_, witch. Don't."

Morrigan simply smiled and brushed past him. Loghain gave Kya a long look and then turned to follow.

Kya watched them go. Morrigan's hips swayed provocatively, but Loghain seemed oblivious. He walked behind her with his head held high, yet it looked suspiciously like forced bravado. That _pang_ again, in the pit of her stomach. It was not unlike the burning of the darkspawn blood. It tore at her.

But that was madness. She had no claim on Loghain, beyond that of one Grey Warden to another. And if Alistair had taught her anything, that bond was tenuous, at best.

* * *

Kya knew she should sleep. But that was as likely as the archdemon changing its mind and heading back underground. She had managed on no sleep before, this would be no different.

She headed instead out to the curtain wall of the castle overlooking Lake Calenhad. The moon was only a sliver in the night sky, but its light glimmered on the still waters brightly. There were the dots of fires and torches in the courtyard and at the lakeshore. Thousands of them.

Her army. One gathered with blood and toil, sweat and heartbreak. And soon it would be over. Most of these men, mages and beasts would be dead before the week was out. But it was a sacrifice that must be made. If it was not, all of Ferelden and eventually, all of Thedas, would be as black and dead as the eyes of a darkspawn. Kya had no great love of the world; It had not been kind to her, but she had no desire to see it end.

For good or ill, she was a Grey Warden. For good or ill, she would see this through.

She expected she could preoccupy herself with the horrors to come. With the army that would soon be no more than carrion to fill the bellies of the crows, with the thought of blood on the faces of her companions, with the cold hard truth that the chances of her surviving to even face the archdemon were slim.

But instead, she could only think of Loghain.

He was a great man. And capable of great things. History told her that much. But the real man behind the tales was so much more than a stone figure of a warrior. She never thought that being a _hero_ wouldn't be enough. But now that she knew there was more to him than that, she found it _wasn't_ enough. Being a hero, or a King, that was only a facade. A face put on to protect from a cold world that didn't understand. Couldn't, or wouldn't understand.

A hero must be perfect. Beyond reproach, without blemish or stain. A hero did not shed tears, and did not feel resentment or regret. A hero was a servant to those that worshiped him. And _servant _was just a pretty word for _slave._

Loghain was no one's slave, save his own. She could see it in his eyes. There were demons there, as powerful and dangerous as any intangible force from the Fade. There was regret and resolve in equal measure. There was pride and arrogance and vanity, but underneath, there was a well of self-hatred so deep that there seemed to be no end to it.

She knew how that felt.

All at once, it hit her. She didn't miss Alistair. It was so soon she thought perhaps she was heartless after all, but the burning in her chest told her otherwise. Alistair was a good man. He was decent and he was handsome. He was everything a woman was supposed to want. And he was a King.

But he was simple. It wasn't an insult, just the truth. He was uncomplicated and as clear as a summer day. There was always joy to be found in simple things.

It wasn't enough; it would never really have been enough. Kya was no summer day. She was a maelstrom, a thunderstorm, a dark ruin with treasure that took much toil to find. Alistair would have been content with the gilding she wore over that, but he would have never been willing to face the long, arduous task of finding the riches she had inside. It would take a man with resolve and a heart of steel to do such a thing.

It would take a man like Loghain. And what was Kya Amell to a man like Loghain?

Nothing at all.

But still, she hoped. Dark clouds and death and horror around every turn, but the diamond deep inside her that was her true self? It hoped, despite it all.


	10. Things Left Unsaid

_A/N Smut. And it isn't pretty._

* * *

Everything about the witch reeked of sex.

And Loghain was horrified to discover that it was having exactly the effect on him that she intended. It had been a long time, but he had somehow hoped for impotence. Which was certainly the last thing he ever expected he might desire. But there it was. And he was mortified at his bestial nature overtaking him. But his indignance wasn't enough to stop his body from responding to her touch.

He was glad for the darkness. He didn't have to see her face then.

He felt the warmth of her thighs, one on either side of his hips. And the warm, moist heat that he'd thought he would never know again. He had resigned himself to a life of celibacy, but now that was over. He felt her flesh enfold him and he shuddered. Shocks of pleasure shot up his spine and he felt his hips buck up off the bed involuntarily. He heard her sharp intake of breath. It sounded as if he'd hurt her.

Which was exactly what he wanted. It was wrong, it was deviant, but all he wanted to do was hurt her.

With a growl, he flipped her on to her back. He fingernails clawed at his back. He felt her draw blood and it spurred him. She knew what this was. This was hate, not love. And she was feeding on it as much as he was. He heard the wooden posts of the bed creak and slam against the wall.

She gasped again, and her nails dug furrows into his skin.

He heard himself shout something seemingly incomprehensible. He felt her clench against him. She made a whimpering sound, like a dog that was being beaten. And it was too much.

The witch was right about one thing; it did not take long at all.

Loghain pulled away from her as soon as his body would allow it. He slid his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his discarded clothes where they lay on the floor. His hands fumbled ineptly in the darkness.

"Does she know?" the witch said. There was dark humor in her voice.

"Does who know what?" Loghain snapped at her as his fingers finally found his trousers on the floor. He stood and ignored the way the muscles in his legs were clamoring that he stay sitting. He yanked them on quickly.

The witch flicked her fingers and the candle beside the bed sparked up again. She'd draped the sheet over herself, but it was far from decent. Loghain busied himself with tying the laces on his pants to avoid looking at her.

"Unless I am mistaken," the witch purred, "It was name you said before, when your body was in more control than your mind."

"Did I?" he spat. "I don't recall."

"Don't you?" Morrigan said. She smirked. "You will even lie to yourself?"

Loghain glared at her. He grabbed his shirt and roughly jerked it over his head.

"Fine," he said, his voice a knife's edge. "What is it you think I said?"

"You said her name," she said. "Kya."

Loghain felt his mouth drop open for a second, but he recovered quickly. He mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

"And since I doubt it is only lust that drove you to say such a thing," she continued. "Perhaps you may want to speak to her, while there is still time."

Loghain grunted. "Was not this vile act to ensure there is more time?"

"It was, at that," she said. She paused and then her playful look fled. "It will prevent the Warden that takes the final blow against the archdemon from dying, 'tis true. But it will not stop a darkspawn sword from removing her pretty head." She sighed with what seemed like genuine remorse. "And though I certainly would not wish to see such a thing happen, there is little I can do to prevent it."

"After all this, I cannot imagine she would die before she faces the beast," he said quietly. "And there is nothing to say, no matter what fate awaits her. Or I."

"No?" Morrigan asked. "I doubt that, very much. But have it as you will, Loghain. What will come, will come, whether you speak or not. And whether you speak it or not, it will still be true."

Loghain refused to acknowledge her. He tugged his boots on and left without another word.

And that was odd in itself, since the witch was in his bed. But there would be no sleep tonight, not after that. And not when he was fighting very hard to convince himself that the witch was _wrong._

She _was_ wrong after all. Anything else was sheer madness. Repeating that like a mantra, he stomped through the hall, the click of his boots against the stones echoing in the dark.

* * *

Loghain found himself on the castle walls. And he also discovered quickly that he was not alone.

Kya stood staring out across the lake. Her hands were on the stone, flexing and relaxing again and again. She wore her armor, but her long hair was unbound over her shoulders. The slight glow of the crescent moon above tinted her in pale blue. She hadn't heard his approach. Loghain considered turning around and disappearing again.

_Foolishness. Was he now going to be intimidated by a child? _

As soon as he thought it, he regretted it. This was no child, standing here in the dark. This was no child playing dress up in armor that did not belong to her. This was a warrior; a mage; a _woman. _ She wore the heavy plate with the ease of someone to whom armor was as much a part of her as skin. She _was_ young, there was no denying that. But he knew those eyes had seen more in the last year than many a man would see in his entire life. She looked at him with a very old soul indeed.

He refused to disrespect her, simply because he had feelings he should not.

Gathering the shreds of his dignity around him like a shield, he moved until he was standing beside her. He mimicked her stance, putting his hands on the stone wall. The stone was cold and unyielding. He tried to look away, to gaze out over the water with the same intense focus as she. But he found his eyes continually flicking back to her. The moonlight glinting on the blue metal of her armor and to the curve of her neck where it shown through the veil of her hair.

She didn't say anything for a long while, did not even look at him. Loghain had the distinct impression that she did not want to look at him. He was about to turn and leave when she finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice hardly even a whisper.

Loghain felt his brow furrow. "For what?"

"You don't regret it then?" she asked.

"I may," he said. "But I have done worse things. I have done many wrong things."

"For all the right reasons, though," she said. "But perhaps this was just selfishness on my part." She sighed. "Shouldn't I be happy to die to save the world?"

"Only fools in storybooks are as such," he said. "Real men and real women cannot be. It is our nature to want to survive." He paused and took a breath. "But in this case, your death was not assured, so I do wonder at why, if it is causing you distress, that you insisted it happen."

She finally looked over at him then. Her eyes looked haunted. "Did you miss the part where I said I did not want you to die either?"

"No," he replied, chastened. "But I do not understand _why_."

She made a little sound, but he wasn't sure what it meant. "I suppose you wouldn't."

"For what it's worth," he said, "No matter your motivation, I do appreciate it. It has been some time since someone said such a thing to me."

Kya smiled sadly at that and looked away again. Her eyes sort of glazed over, with a far away look. It seemed suddenly like she was a thousand miles away. She looked again like she did in the tower. Stone. And proud. But there was something different in her now, yet he couldn't begin to understand what it was.

It really didn't matter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she _had_ broken through the wall around his heart. He could deny it, but it wouldn't change anything. Just as the witch said, it would still be true, even if left unsaid.

But just what would saying something accomplish? He'd been here before.

He remembered a night, very long ago, when Maric had taken that elven spy into his tent. When he broke Rowan's heart, for the first time among many to come. Loghain had followed her then. He was young and the world had not tempered him as it had now. He spoke to her, and she rejected him.

It wasn't until Rowan thought there was no hope at all that she finally came to him. She claimed it was not because of Maric's refusal. She claimed to have loved _him _all along. But Loghain had never really been certain that it was the truth.

The thought of more rejection stayed his tongue. He was not fragile, but over the years, he realized he had become not only bitter but _brittle_. Like old steel, he would shatter.

No words then.

Instead, there would be action. Tomorrow, they would march to Denerim. And then, they would break through the hoard and face the archdemon. And Loghain intended to make damn sure that Kya lived to see it through. If he had to throw himself against everything that threatened her, he would do it. Maker help him, but he was going to be worthy of being her hero if it was the last thing he ever did.


	11. The Archdemon

_Everything is blood and fire._

_Spells blaze around him, howls, and more blood like rain. Unnatural lightning streaks sideways, blinding him. Even the sky is red as blood. The archdemon is horrible, its gaping maw filled with gore covered teeth; it's screams shatter him. It is so much worse than he ever imagined. _

_Loghain is on his knees, his battered shield forgotten, his sword just out of the reach of his fingers. But he reaches for it, struggles to move as he sees her appear out of the corner of his eye._

_She is a battle fury. _

_Her hair has torn free, her face is more blood than flesh, her eyes are icy resolve. Lightning screams from her outstretched fingers. It finds the dragon and the dragon wails. It shrieks and Loghain knows it's a death keen. He's heard it before._

_With a cry of rage he didn't even know she could make, she grabs for a sword, her own long discarded in the melee. A two handed monster of a thing that is nearly as tall as she is. But she wields it; it wields her. The blade and she become a blur as she races forward._

_Loghain hears himself scream – __**No! **__– but the words are torn away in a whirlwind of purple fire._

_She slides under the belly of the beast, dragging the massive blade over her head, more blood rain falling on her. It soaks into her hair, runs down her face in rivulets. She rolls out from beneath it as it collapses with a crash of blood and a last attempt at fire snorts from its nostrils. The beast is going to die, and it knows it._

_She is a goddess, blood soaked. _

_She screams again, just as Loghain finally finds his feet. He's running towards her. He knows he's screaming; screaming at her to stop. To let him . . . what if the witch was lying? He won't let her die. __**He can't!**_

_But he doesn't reach her in time. She plunges the sword into the archdemon's skull and light erupts from it, encasing her._

_He's stopped dead in his tracks and the witch is beside him. Her face is gleeful, elated and the light, it encompasses her as well. Loghain watches in mute horror as his child becomes a god._

_And then, the world explodes._

_He's on his back on the cold stone. His ears are bleeding from the concussion of sound. For a moment, he can't remember who he is, or where he is, but then he rolls over on to his side and he sees her and it all comes back in a rush. And brings something with it that he thought he could never feel again._

_**Love.**_

_And it's horrible. Because she isn't moving. And he can't move. He struggles to crawl on his belly towards her. He is weeping, but there is no shame in it._ _She isn't dead, she can't be dead. Maker help him, but if she is dead . . . but then she moves. Her head lolls to the side, her eyes flicker open through a haze of blood. Loghain reaches just close enough to touch the tips of her fingers with his own._

_And she smiles at him. _

_Then suddenly, the world is as it was again. The fire is gone, the screaming below turns to cheers. Loghain realizes with utter clarity, that for the first time in as long as he can remember, he does not want to die._


	12. The Commander

Kya had no idea how she'd gotten off the top of Fort Drakon. All she could remember was waking up in a strange and comfortable bed, in a huge room that could have been no where except the royal palace.

What she did remember however, this with crystal transparency, was the touch of Loghain's fingers and the tears on his face. Tears, of all things. She tried to convince herself that he was only wounded and that what it seemed like couldn't be possible. But that was a hard road. She had a thousand explanations, and they all seemed flat.

The only other answer however, was entirely too good to be true. Childhood fantasies are supposed to be just that, _fantasies. _

Whatever it was, she knew she had more unpleasantness to deal with first. Today was Alistair and Anora's coronation. But before the ceremony began, the soon to be King had asked to see her. In private.

Kya thought she might just be sick.

Without the threat of the archdemon and the Blight firing her blood, it seemed her confidence evaporated. She did not want to face him, not like that. Once he was King, and she the commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, then she could face him with dignity. But he wanted to speak with her, Alistair to Kya, and that wasn't a conversion she wanted to have.

However, he wasn't going to wait forever. If she didn't go, he was going to burst in here full of righteous indignation and then they would get to scream at each other with an audience of horrified servants. Not exactly a distinguished way to start his reign. And she put him there, after all, and had no desire to seem as foolish as she felt.

So she went. And the guards opened the door to his study with curt bows and stuttering adoration. It reminded her a bit of Cullen, back in the day. It tasted bitter.

Alistair was standing at the window. He was dressed, well, like a king. Purple tunic with gold embroidery, black leather trousers, and a delicate looking sword strapped to his hip. A gleaming set of gold dragon armor stood on a stand in the corner with flickers of sunlight glittering on it's polished surface.

A far cry from the nearly always disheveled and rumpled Alistair.

He heard the door shut and he turned to face her. Violet tunic or no, it was still _him._ Except his eyes weren't happy, and he was almost always happy. Or complaining, and happy to be complaining. This man's eyes were dead. Kya felt that same hollow feeling in her chest.

You could have heard a pin drop as they stared at each other.

Kya wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Was he looking at the tunic she wore, emblazoned with the Grey Warden griffon? Did he see the intricate braids wound into her hair by an over enthusiastic hand maid? Did he see the Hero of Ferelden or was he finally seeing _her_ at last?

"Kya," he said as he walked around the desk to stand in front of her. "I'm sure you think we have nothing more to say to each other." He paused thoughtfully. "But you would be wrong."

"What do you wish to speak of, your Majesty?" she asked. The words felt strange.

Alistair grimaced. "So it's going to be like that, is it?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm the King and you're the sodding Hero of Ferelden, and that's it?" He sounded exasperated already.

"What else is there?" she asked. "Am I to beg your forgiveness? Fall on my knees and proclaim that I still love you?"

His face crumpled. "I'm guessing it wouldn't work if I did that then, I suppose."

"What?" Kya frowned. "You can't possibly still . . . ."

"Did you think it was just going to go away?" he interrupted. "Is it that easy for you?" He sat down hard on the edge of his desk. "Do you have any idea how I felt, locked up in the cellar, listening to the battle? I _felt_ it when you killed the archdemon. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

Kya gave him a hard look. "I don't think I do."

"I thought we were going to be together forever," he sighed into his hand.

"Forever only happens in fairy tales Alistair," she said quietly. "No matter what you think you feel, you are going to be the King of Ferelden. Even if I had executed Loghain on the floor, like the dog you think he is, _that_ would still be true." He was frowning at her. "And what could a mage be to the King of Ferelden," she continued. "Except a friend. Or maybe his whore."

Alistair stumbled to his feet. "My what?"

"You heard me," she said, raising her hands out in front of her. "You already have a wife. What else could it have been?"

"It could have been exactly like it was before," he said. "Well, except for the wife part."

"And what was that?" she asked. "An ex-Templar and a mage, just living out some fantasy they had about _forbidden fruit_ as Leliana would say?"

Alistair just stared, his mouth agape. He looked like she'd slapped him.

"Look," she said, taking his hand. "I _do_ love you, I probably always will. But we weren't meant for each other, and you know it. If things hadn't been they way they were, when it felt like we were the last two people in all of Thedas, it would have never happened."

"Why not?" he asked, choked.

"Think about it, think about it very carefully Alistair," she said. "How many times did I do or say something that drove you to distraction? How many choices did I make that made your stomach turn? If you can't remember any, think about Loghain."

Alistair scowled and pulled his hand away.

"Because I don't regret sparing his life; I haven't regretted it even once," she said. "Is that the sort of woman you could really love?"

He turned away from her. "I had better learn to, because I'm married to one just the same."

"I'm sorry that you aren't happy," she said. "I didn't mean for that."

"I'm sure you didn't," he said with his back still to her.

"Listen, for what it's worth, I don't regret what happened between us," she said. He slowly turned back to look at her. Kya gave him a sad smile. "But it just wasn't meant to be."

Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a locket. It was silver and had intricate dwarven runes on its surface. She took Alistair's hand and turned it palm up, setting it down delicately. She clicked it open. Inside there was a single dried rose petal. Alistair stared at it incredulously as she clicked it shut again. Kya folded his fingers around it.

When she finally met his eyes again, they were damp with tears.

"Don't forget me," she said softly. "Because I certainly won't forget you."

And with that, she reached up and kissed him once, softly, on his cheek and went out. She gave him a look over her shoulder. He was staring at his folded hand and tears ran down his cheeks. It broke her heart a little to see him like that. But he would be alright in time. She knew that much about him. The clouds would roll back and the sun would shine again.

He would be a good king; he was a good man. And Anora would be a good _ruler_ at his side. Together, they would be exactly what Ferelden needed.

But for Kya, that life would never have been anything more than a gilded cage. She might be a Grey Warden, sworn to protect _by any means necessary, _but that did not feel like a punishment, not any more_._ That was the life the Maker had given to her, and it was the one she was suited for.

She wondered now, just where it might lead.

* * *

The coronation was quite beautiful. It was worthy of a painting in one of those storybooks she once read, before she abandoned them for tales about Maric and the Hero of River Dane. Alistair wore that golden armor like he'd been born for it, and she supposed that he had. Anora was everything a Queen was supposed to be, radiant and beautiful. Yet stern somehow, despite her fragile appearance.

Kya felt proud of the both of them.

She watched Loghain as his daughter was crowned Queen for the second time. He looked wry, but happy. He also seemed to stifle a grin when Anora slapped Alistair's hand away when he reached to take hers. It was going to be a long hard road for the two of them. But weren't political marriages always like that? It would be a year before they even liked each other, but some day, they would be in love, just as it should be.

That strange hollow feeling was gone.

They paraded her about like a trophy. She obliged them, though it made her feel like a butterfly under glass. With the nice sharp pin to keep her in place as well. She honestly couldn't wait for it to be over. Certainly the bed was nice, and the road to Amaranthine was bound to be long, but it would be familiar.

But not today. Today was for pomp and ceremony and _bullshit_. Tomorrow was for leaving and starting over. _A life of her own_ was exactly what she needed.

Kya found Loghain leaning against the wall in the hall when she finally managed to break away from the throng. He looked weary. She hadn't had the chance to spare one word for him, not since the top of Fort Drakon. She realized quite vividly during those days that she _missed_ him.

No matter what madness had happened in those days before the archdemon fell, they were friends at least. Or she hoped so.

"Commander Kya," he said quietly as she approached. A smile flickered and fled before it reached his eyes.

Kya raised an eyebrow at him. "That sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"Not really," he replied. He sounded sincere. "It is well deserved."

"I suppose it is at that," she said. She felt awkward all of sudden, and had no idea what to say. She was relieved when he finally spoke.

"So it seems you will be heading to Amaranthine on the morrow, or am I mistaken?" he asked.

"That is the plan, yes," she said. "I did want to speak with you about that."

"Yes?" he replied.

"Since I am now officially the Commander, of all two of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, I was hoping that I might persuade you to come along. I could sorely use some help that isn't Orlesian," she said. She knew the impact that last bit would have on him. It was manipulation, certainly, but she wasn't above it.

"There is no need for persuasion," he said. His tone was suspiciously flat. "You are, as you say, my Commander. I will do what ever you ask."

Kya sighed. "Yes, I'm sure. But I don't want to _command_ you to do anything. If you don't want to go, I will release you from any obligation you feel. Ferelden is safe, for the time being. Your oath is no longer necessary."

Loghain grunted. "What do _you_ want?" he asked.

"Didn't I just ask?" she said, frustrated. His walls were up again, decorated with banners and all. "Did you think I was just being polite? I would very much like for you to come with me to Amaranthine. I would _very_ much like your help Loghain." She sighed. "To be perfectly honest, I need your help."

"I can't imagine you would need help from anyone," he said quietly.

"Well, you would be wrong," she said. "I did rally the troops using the treaties, but that's not the same as rebuilding the Wardens from nothing. I don't know the first thing about recruiting men, but you do."

"I suppose I do have some experience with that," he said. He brightened a little and his look became decidedly sarcastic. He gave her a curt little bow. "As you wish, _Commander_. I will follow where you lead."

Kya sneered at him. _This_ was familiar territory again. "Yes, you do that _Warden,_" she replied.

He looked inordinately pleased.


	13. Horses and Hounds

Loghain felt_ good_.

After all the injuries he'd suffered in the battle to save Denerim, he wasn't sure he'd ever be the same again. But most amazingly, Wynne had spent innumerable hours healing both he and Kya, and he realized she may have even healed old wounds he'd forgotten he had.

Amaranthine was a long way off, but he found the prospect of an extended journey was rather appealing. Especially the idea of a journey without someone hunting him. Although their awaiting company was mostly Ferelden, there were a large number of Orlesian Wardens with them. He expected it would make him cranky. He discovered quickly that he really didn't care.

He'd still defend the borders of Ferelden against Orlais to the death, Grey Warden or not, but these were _Wardens_ first. Finally he knew what that meant. And if it meant being part of the glorious thing that happened on top of Fort Drakon, maybe even he could learn to respect them, Orlesian blood and all.

Maker's Breath, he was starting to sound like Cailan.

But what made him even more gratified than his new level of tolerance, was the horses. No more blasted walking, and he had a particular fondness for horses themselves as well. He was also amused by the decidedly worried look on Kya's face when she spotted the animals.

"Oh great," she sighed. "I get to leave Denerim all dignified by falling off the back some beast. That'll be just sodding wonderful."

"Falling off?" Loghain commented, reminded of Maric for a moment. He was forever falling off horses. "Why would you do that?"

Kya gave him a blazing look. "Because I've never actually ridden a horse before. Remember, Circle of Magi? If you missed it, there aren't exactly stables in the tower."

Loghain felt a little jolt at her familiar tone. "We could always pack you into one of the wagons."

"Very funny," she snapped. She was looking up at the horse with trepidation.

"Or," he said, suddenly feeling a rather enormous amount of trepidation himself, "Until we have time for some riding lessons, you could ride with me."

Kya looked equally relieved and nervous. "You can do that?"

"Of course," Loghain said, "The horse certainly won't mind."

"What about you?" she asked. "Don't you think that might be . . . uncomfortable for you?"

"Why would it be?"

"You are still Loghain Mac Tir, the hero of River Dane, and I expect . . . ."

He cut her off. "I'm a Grey Warden, assisting his commander. Unless that is a problem."

"No, of course it isn't," she said quickly. Very quickly, he noted.

She was looking at him again, with that strange wistful expression he just couldn't comprehend. But it made him feel a bit like his chest might explode. He'd come to terms with what happened when the archdemon died as best he could, but it wasn't easy.

He was tired of lying to himself. And he just couldn't be honest and deny that he felt something for her. Something that was more intense and certainly more _affectionate_ than what a man should feel for his commander. Of course, the Grey Wardens were not an army. With the exception of Kya's position, they had no ranks, no chain of command. They were all equals. She was just the first among equals.

When she looked at him like that, it made him feel like he was a young man again. And it had been a very long time since anyone would have described him as such. He wasn't sure he'd even been young when he _was_ young.

She raised her eyebrows at him. She was waiting for him to say something, or do something, but he had just been staring like a slack jawed fool. He cleared his throat and turned to the horse, taking the reins in his hand.

"Here," he said, turning the horse to face her. "Say hello."

Kya reached out her hand, very slowly and touched the horse's snout. She looked surprised.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "It's so soft!"

Loghain found himself smiling. "Yes, it is." He ran his hand down the beast's forehead, patting it affectionately. He had always had a fondness for animals, horses in particular. And Mabari hounds, which he was reminded of as Kya's brindle hound, Keiran, ran towards them. The little stub of his tail wagged so hard his entire body shook.

"Hey there boy!" Kya said, crouching down and throwing her arms around Keiran's thick neck. She kissed his nose and he gave a happy little bark. "Think you can keep up with the horses?" she asked him. He barked again. Kya kissed him again, completely oblivious to the hound's fearsome appearance.

Loghain loved animals; it was true. But he'd never felt jealous of one before.

She stood and looked at him again. She squared her shoulders.

"Alright," she said, "Let's get this over with."

"Your foot here," he gestured. "Take the pommel in your hand, and jump."

She did as he instructed and managed it rather gracefully, all things considered. But once she was perched in the saddle, he realized she looked very pale.

She faced the archdemon, a nearly immortal dragon, as big as house and spewing flames of unnatural purple fire and she looked terrified at the prospect of riding a horse. It gave Loghain a boost of confidence, at that. Perhaps it was endurable then that he was half terrified of climbing up on the horse behind her.

But they were waiting, so Loghain swung up behind her. She tensed and swayed a bit at his abrupt movement, and he had to grab her around the waist to keep her steady. It had a rather profound effect on him when she relaxed back against him.

Kya _trusted_ him. Of all the people in the world, and after all the ways he had tried to hurt her, without ever knowing who she was, she_ trusted_ him.

Loghain's revelry was cut short by the arrival of the King and Queen. The looks from both Alistair and his daughter seeing him up on the horse with his arm wrapped around Kya chilled his blood. As the cliche went -- _if looks could kill --_ he would have been dead on the spot. Although he wasn't sure if it was Alistair or Anora's expression that was more deadly.

"Father, _Warden,_" Anora said, recovering her composure first. "I see that you are ready to depart."

"I see _something_," Alistair said. Loghain wouldn't say he growled it, but it was suspiciously close.

Kya tensed again and sat up straight. He could feel that it was the last thing she wanted to do, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn't about to show weakness now.

"Yes, your Majesties," she said formally. "Have you come to see us off?"

"We have," Anora replied. Her tone was suitably regal. "And we have one last subject of great import it occurred to us that we did not inform you of."

"And that is?" Kya asked. Loghain got the impression she was trying very hard not to sound annoyed.

"Although the Arling of Amaranthine is granted to the Grey Wardens, it will still need to be governed. And from what I understand, the Grey Wardens as a group do not involve themselves with politics," Anora intoned. "At least under normal circumstances."

"That's right," Kya said. "Not under normal circumstances, that is."

Anora continued, "As such, we do not expect the Grey Wardens to be involved directly in . . . ."

"What the Queen is trying to say," Alistair interrupted, "Is that we intend to offer that duty to you."

"Excuse me?" Kya said.

"If you will accept, we would like you to be the Arlessa of Amaranthine," Anora finished, giving Alistair an aggravated look.

"I . . . appreciate the offer," Kya said, choosing her words carefully. "But I am a Grey Warden, your Majesties, and furthermore, I am a mage. As a mage cannot inherit a title, I am not suited for such an honor."

"Perhaps it is time such practices are amended," Anora said.

"Maybe someday," Kya said. "But not today, and not for me. I have no need of more responsibilities. I _will_ serve the crown, in my own way, but not in this. Amarantine will be protected by the Grey Wardens, but we will not be more involved than that." Kya paused, as if she was waiting for an argument. But there was none.

"I thought as much," Anora said finally. "But the King insisted. He felt that a Grey Warden presence at the Landsmeet might benefit Ferelden."

Alistair looked mortified.

"It might at that," Loghain interjected. "But I agree with Commander Kya; the Grey Wardens have no place in politics."

The irony of that statement was not lost on him. If it hadn't been for a particular Grey Warden entangling herself rather deeply into Ferelden politics, he wouldn't be on the back of this horse with that same young and formidable woman sitting between his legs.

Instead, he'd likely be dead.

"Again," Kya said, " I thank you for your offer, but I must decline. And now, we must take our leave. The road to Amarathine is long, and there is much to be done." She leaned back slightly and whispered so only Loghain could hear. "Think you can give us a suitably dramatic exit?"

He resisted the urge to laugh, and instead spurred the horse forward.

"Farewell, your _Majesties,_" she said as the horse found it's rhythm.

Loghain urged the horse forward, quickly from a walk to a gallop. He wrapped his arm tightly around Kya, remembering her comment about falling. If she wanted a dramatic exit, he was more than happy to give her one. He'd learned the power of a theatrical performance a long time ago. Not only did it leave an impression, but it felt damn good.

Loghain heard Kya laugh though the rush of the wind past his face. He could get used to this.

* * *

"I cannot believe they . . . _he_ . . . tried to pull such a sneaky, backhanded thing," Kya said, sighing.

"Perhaps he is grasping politics faster than I expected," Loghain replied. He'd slowed the horse to gentle walk, since they'd gotten so far ahead. He could hear the creak of wagons and the thrum of voices in the distance as the group they'd assembled followed. They were still a way off, leaving the two of them alone.

And she was still leaning against him, a warm presence between his legs. She seemed to be catching on to the rhythm of moving with the horse quickly. Loghain knew it would be perfectly safe to move his arm from where it was still wrapped around her, but he found he had no desire to do so. Maybe it wasn't surprising, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Maker's breath, that's a horrifying thought," she said. "I hope Anora has enough will to prevent him from doing anything too stupid."

Loghain sighed. He might have her in his arms, but she was still thinking about _him._

"Ah, but it doesn't matter," she continued. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "I really don't want to think about either of them for a very long time."

"No?" Loghain asked.

"No," she repeated. "Not one bit. And frankly I'd like to pretend not to be a Grey Warden, for a couple hours at least."

"Then how will you explain why you are here?" he asked.

"Which part?" she asked. He saw the corners of her eyes crinkle. "The bit where I'm on my way to Amaranthine or the bit where I'm sitting rather close to you?"

Loghain wasn't sure what to say. He realized he was suddenly very uneasy. It seemed she sensed it as soon as he did and she sat up a bit straighter, lifting her head.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "That was rather inappropriate, wasn't it?"

"I . . . ," he began. "No, not really." _Andraste's flaming sword, he sounded like an imbecile._ "I am just not sure that I'm used to . . . ."

"To someone talking to you like you're a person?" she finished his thought.

"You have the gist of it," he said. "I have been called 'my lord' for so long, I think I've forgotten."

"Why do you think I wanted to get away from Denerim so quickly?" she said. She leaned her head back again. "For your sake as much as mine. I didn't forget what you said."

"What did I say?" Loghain asked, trying to ignore how _right_ it felt having her resting against him.

"You said you wanted a life of your own," she said. "And I think I owe you that much, at least."

He shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."

"Maybe not," she said. "But I'm going to do it anyway."


	14. Another Kind of Adventure

_A/N Sorry I haven't been able to reply to my reviews. I appreciate them SO much, but I'm not getting reply notices. So I'll just say that yes, there is much more to come and I'm thrilled that you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it!_

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Zevran once said that falling down a flight of stairs was an adventure.

He also said that falling into someone's bed was an adventure, but Kya tried to not think about that part too hard. She did think however that he could have added getting off a horse after eight hours following your first time ever riding a horse was a whole other kind of adventure.

If Loghain hadn't swung down first, Kya was sure she would have fallen flat on her face. As it was, he grabbed her as her legs buckled underneath her. Kya then discovered it was one thing to have him behind her on the horse, but it was another thing entirely to have him standing in front of her with his arms wrapped around her waist. She also discovered that she liked it, entirely more than she expected she should.

If she hadn't known better, she would have said Loghain was grinning.

"I may have forgotten to mention that it may take some time to get used to," he said. His face was close enough that his breath ruffled her hair.

"My legs feel like jelly," Kya laughed. "I had no idea."

He was definitely smiling now. "I can imagine," he said. "I remember the first time I rode for more than a short distance. I was only a boy, so at least when I collapsed, I didn't have far to fall."

Kya grinned and then grimaced. "I'm not sure I can walk."

Loghain turned her around, his hands still firmly on her shoulders. "Give it a try."

She attempted to take a single step and her legs were useless. She tumbled forward, only to find herself clutched back against Loghain again.

"That went well," she said. "Okay, so how pathetic will it look if I crawl over to the fire to die?"

Loghain chuckled. "Rather pathetic, I expect."

"Great." She shook her head, feeling far from the vaunted _hero_ she was supposed to be at the moment. "The first Grey Warden to be defeated by riding a horse."

"Well," he said, sounding rather amused with himself. "We can't have that."

And before Kya could protest, he scooped her up into his arms like she was a doll. Not that she _would_ have objected, as far as she could tell. He made a little sound, something like a laugh invaded by a groan.

"Thanks?" Kya managed as he started walking towards the bonfire that already blazed in the heart of the camp. She was shocked enough that she didn't even blush. And there was enough commotion going on that no one else seemed to notice. Well, no one until Kya heard a familiar lilting voice intone from the shadows.

"My dear Warden," the voice said. "Seducing your new companion already, I see."

At that, she did flush and she felt Loghain's arms tense. Kya felt like her face was on fire. She felt the sudden urge to bury her head against Loghain's chest, but that wasn't going to do anything except make things worse.

"Zev," she said after she'd found her voice again. "I wondered when you might show up."

Zevran sidled up alongside them just as Loghain got her close enough to the fire that he could set her down quickly without making it look like the elf's words had bothered him. Kya could tell by the amused look on Zev's face that Loghain wasn't fooling anyone.

"Bellisima," Zevran purred, sitting down next to her with his usual grace. "You did not think I would go back on my word, did you?"

Kya gave him an indulgent smile. "Not at all," she said. "You're the most honorable assassin I know."

"Do not be so lavish with your praise," Zevran replied sarcastically. "I am the _only_ assassin you know. That you are aware of."

"Excuse me, Commander," Loghain interrupted before he turned and walked away. Kya stared after him, frowning. She didn't even realize she was doing it until Zevran spoke again.

"My, my," he murmured. "I had no idea."

Kya snapped her head to look at him. "What? No idea about what?"

Zevran pursed his lips. "I am not blind, Mia Cara."

"I have no clue what you are talking about Zev," Kya sighed.

"I don't recall you ever making such _lascivo_ eyes at me, much to my dismay," he said, laughing. "I would not have expected that I would see you look at _him_ in such a manner. He is the same man we spent a year trying to destroy, no?"

Kya sighed. "I don't want to have this conversation."

"Perhaps we should discuss instead how you have finally come to your senses and decided that you must have me?" Zevran asked.

"Don't make me kill you, Zev," Kya complained. "Because I will."

"Promises, promises," he said, laughing again.

At the edge of the light from the fire, Kya caught sight of Loghain. He was leaning with forced nonchalance against one of the wagons. He took a drink from a waterskin one of the workmen traveling with them had found for him. She watched with entirely more interest than she should at the way the muscles in his throat moved when he swallowed. He noticed her gaze and nodded perfunctorily before he turned away. She was probably mistaken, but he looked almost disappointed.

"Bontà mia!" Zevran exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "Sei in amore!"

Kya gave him a hard look. "So are you going to tell me what that means?"

"No need," he replied thoughtfully. "You know."

* * *

The camp had been enveloped in that comfortable hush that always arose after everyone had finally settled in to sleep. Little hushed voices now and again, the sound of those on watch shifting in their armor and the melodic crackling of a dying fire were the only sounds. It was peaceful and familiar.

Despite the comforting lull, Kya couldn't bring herself to retreat to her tent. She wondered if she was ever going to be like a normal person and actually sleep. Since they'd broken the Blight the nightmares weren't even all that bad anymore, yet she found herself sitting and staring at the fire long after she should have been tucked into her bed roll.

She could already tell that healing spells or no, her legs and more importantly, her behind, were going to be very sore tomorrow. The prospect of another eight hours on horseback was not all that appealing. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. The idea of spending another day in Loghain's arms, talking like real people, was a rather nice thought, at that.

The little flip her stomach did when she thought about it made her blush. And it was dually ridiculous since she was alone. She was also having a hard time not just sitting there and smiling like an dimwit. If she kept this up, she was certain the other Grey Wardens would send her on her Calling, assuming she'd gone completely mad.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Loghain said from out of nowhere. Kya looked up anxiously and saw that he was standing not three feet from her. She wondered how long he'd been there, watching. If he'd been there long . . . the mere idea mortified her. She hoped her furious blushing wasn't noticeable in the dim light.

"Probably," she replied, trying to sound casual. "But I think I've gotten out of the habit."

Loghain sat down and folded his legs but didn't say anything.

"I thought that once it was all over I'd want to sleep for a month," Kya said, trying to fill the silence. "But I just can't."

He didn't reply.

"Why aren't _you_ sleeping?" she asked. He did look tired, exhausted even. He was very pale and his black hair was disheveled. "You look like hell."

"Thank you," he replied sarcastically.

"You look _tired_," she amended.

"I am," he said. He didn't elaborate.

"Well then . . . ," Kya said. She stopped and her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

Loghain seemed to be pondering something. Almost like she'd just asked him a complicated mathematical equation, not if he was well. He frowned but said nothing.

Kya cocked her head at him. "Alright, you are obviously are _not_ okay," she said. "So are you going to talk to me or just sit there looking ill?"

"I think I've gotten out of the habit," he said finally. "Of talking, that is."

"You did fine all day," she said, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

He just stared into the fire intensely. Kya had no idea what was going through his head. But she suddenly had the profound urge to move closer. He looked so _sad_. He never looked sad. Irritated, annoyed and frustrated, yes. But sad? Never.

"Loghain," she said. "Please, tell me what's going on." She felt oddly close to tears.

"I . . . ," he started. He looked over at her for a moment, blinked once, very slowly and looked away again. "Its nothing," he added quickly.

Kya sighed and rubbed her eyes. She looked back over at him. He was so still he might have been a statue. The corners of his mouth were turned down. She almost expected he was going to get up and leave, considering the heavy tension that had leapt up around them. But still he didn't move. His eyes flickered in her direction for an instant, but beyond that, nothing.

Still not quite trusting her legs, and convinced her judgment had escaped her completely, Kya crawled over to him and sat down again. She sat close enough that her folded knee nearly touched him. She leaned forward and turned to him. He closed his eyes, but then slowly opened them again and looked at her.

She didn't speak, but gave him a questioning look. He sighed and his shoulders slumped, just a bit.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"What?" Kya replied, surprised. "Of course I do."

"I don't know how you could," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I have tried to kill you," he said matter-of-fact. "And I still honestly cannot say that I made the wrong decisions, considering what I knew at the time. I have made no apologies for my actions, and I do not intend to."

"I never asked you to," she said. She swallowed. "And I don't have any right to judge you."

"Don't you?" he said. "You _were _my judge, and nearly executioner."

"Just as you were mine," Kya said. Utterly sincere, she added, "We did what we thought was right."

"Even so . . . ," he started, but then he stopped abruptly.

"Let me ask you then," she said, taking the initiative. "Do you trust me?"

He blinked at her. "I honestly don't know," he said, just barely more than a whisper.

"That wasn't really the answer I was expecting," she said, leaning back.

"Well," he said, his voice even quieter now. "Maybe that's not the complete truth."

Kya shook her head and leaned forward again, putting her elbows on her knees and hiding her face in her hands. "I have no idea what is going on here," she said, muffled by her palms. She turned her head, still cradled in her hands, giving him a look of complete confusion. "Are you going to tell me what this is about or are you just going sit there and make me lose my mind?"

"I am not sure that I can," Loghain said. "Maybe I should just go." He started to move away.

Kya grabbed his elbow. "That's not fair," she said. He stopped and sat back down.

"Alright, this is absurd," she continued, putting on her commander voice like a shield. "Now, tell me what is bothering you, or I swear by the Maker, I'll make it an order."

He just looked at her with a frown so earnest she thought he might just shatter right then and there.

"Loghain, you're scaring me," she said. Instead of a reply, he moved forward so quickly she hardly had time to realize what was happening.

He gathered her up in his arms, and _kissed_ her.

Before her brain even fully registered that he -- _Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane, former Teryn of Gwaren,_ and more importantly, the man she dreamt about as a girl and now had discovered was even more fascinating than she ever imagined back then -- was _**kissing **_her, he let her go and was gone. He disappeared into the shadows.

Kya was having a hard time catching her breath. She stared off into the darkness in the direction he'd gone. Of all things she ever thought might happen, this was the one she never even gave herself permission to think about.

"Holy Maker," she breathed.

Ignoring the quivering in her legs, trembling that was probably as much from the kiss as from the horse, she stumbled to her feet and scurried off into the night after him.

* * *

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.

_Since Zevran uses some Italian phrases in game, I just decided to stick with the trend._

_Bellisima = Beautiful_

_Mia Cara = My Dear (Special thanks to Zerbinetta for correcting me!)_

_Lascivo = Lustful_

_Bontà mia! Sei in amore! = My goodness! You are in love!_


	15. Thrill of the Chase

"Loghain?"

He heard her voice calling for him through the trees. He had the sudden notion that he was seventeen years old again. What exactly did he think he was doing here? First, he practically assaulted the poor girl and then he runs off like an humiliated child? It was official, he had completely lost touch with reality. If he had any sense left at all, he'd go talk to her, apologize for being a swine and implore her to pretend it never happened.

But he wasn't moving, and he wasn't responding to her calls.

Once, he'd tried to run away from his responsibilities. After Rowan had rejected him the first time, he had gathered up his things and had nearly been gone before Maric found him. But instead of leaving as he intended, he'd ended that night as a commander in the rebel army and on his knees giving his oath of loyalty to serve Maric.

Loghain was never quite sure if he was proud or mortified by that memory.

He'd run for the same reason that night that he fled on this one. Kya hadn't rejected him, but he was silent now because it felt incontrovertible that she would. He often wondered at the fact that he could face an army, practically rule Ferelden for a very long time and make all the difficult decisions a man would ever face, but he could not brave a lone woman.

He knew the truth of that, at least.

To the world, Loghain made himself an unstoppable force, an impenetrable shield, a wall without even the slightest chink. There could be no vulnerability in a world full of opportunists and assassins. But when he was alone, as he had been far too often for one lifetime, he was weak. He was pathetic and alone and knew it was because at his core, he was simply unlovable. It wasn't a complicated equation, at that.

How could he have let this happen again? How could his foolishness and vanity brought him so close to ruin yet again?

"Loghain!" he heard her say again, her voice sounding near panic. "I know you're here." He heard her tentative footsteps in the fallen leaves. It was pitch black beneath the canopy of the trees, and he was glad of it. She would not see the weakness he fought against, and was failing to defeat.

"Fine," she said. "If you won't say anything, then just listen." He heard her sigh.

"I might just be standing here in the dark, talking to myself like an idiot," she said. "But if you are here, I hope you are actually listening. And not just deciding what I'm saying, but really hearing me. I get the impression that you usually predict what people are going to say, before they do. And I have news for you Loghain, sometimes you are going to get it wrong."

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool, smooth bark of a nearby tree. He wanted nothing more than to leave. He did not want to hear this, but he knew if he moved, she'd hear him and he'd have no choice. At least this way he might be able to pretend later that he'd heard nothing. And perhaps even manage to convince himself what he had just done was nothing more than a bad dream.

"First, I want you to know that if you ever get the urge to kiss me again," she started. "I think you should just go ahead and do it, as long as you promise not to run off again."

Loghain was _sure_ he was dreaming now.

"Because perhaps it is madness," she continued. "But I liked it. I just wish it hadn't happened so fast that I missed most of it."

Yes, _dreaming_. It was the only possible explanation.

"Maker," she said, sounding equally frustrated and embarrassed. "Why does everything need to be so sodding _complicated_? You know, sometimes I think fate has a terrible sense of humor. Of all the people in the world . . . ." She sighed again. "You aren't here, are you?" she asked the darkness.

Loghain knew he should say something, but he couldn't find his voice.

"Andraste's frilly knickers, I am so stupid," she continued. "You probably just don't want to have to face me to tell me that you were . . . just overtired or something. I can't believe I actually thought . . . ." She made a little sound like a sob. "I am so brainless. Me and my insipid heart again."

He wasn't sure he was actually hearing what she was saying, but it sounded so much like what he was feeling he could scarcely believe it.

"Do you know how many times I've been wrong?" she said. He realized she wasn't really talking to him anymore, just to herself. "How many times did I want to think that someone might actually care about _me?_ Not just what they thought I was, or hoped I was . . . Cullen thought I was some unattainable thing, and only wanted me because he couldn't have me. And Alistair . . . he was in love with some sodding _heroine_ I've never even met. I just kept hoping that someday, somebody would finally see _me_ or at least take the time to try." She hiccupped.

Kya was crying.

"And, you know, I thought my luck was changing at last. I never tried to pretend I was someone else with you. And that isn't easy. It's easier to play a part, even a role that you despise. Then if you don't get loved, it doesn't hurt so much. Because it wasn't really me," she said. She took a shaky breath. "And I was so stupid to think that you might be the one to do it. To see me, and decide I was worth it anyway. Maker, I just want to crawl in a hole."

He heard her take a few shuffling steps, and sniffle.

"The worst part of it is that I just can't stop. I know I'm supposed to hate you, but I can't," she said. "Even now, when it's hopeless, I just can't. Because even though it goes against _everything_ that's right, and sensible and reasonable, I can't hate you. I think I might just love you instead."

It felt like the ground had just been torn out from under Loghain's feet. She didn't say anything, or move for what seemed like an eternity. She made a few small sounds that made him feel like his heart might explode.

"I really thought you might feel the same way," she said finally. "But I guess I was wrong."

He heard her turn, saw just the tiniest flicker of her outline in the shadows.

"I should have never asked you to sleep with Morrigan. I should have just done what I was supposed to, and died. I'd make a far better hero that way," she said.

She started walking away. Although it was harder than if he'd fought the entire Orlesian army himself, Loghain managed to speak.

"Wait," he said.

"_Oh Maker_," she said, sounding aghast. "You _are_ here. And you heard all that."

"I did," he managed. "And I'm not sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," she said. She sounded angry. "But I swear if you try to use what I just said against me, I'll . . . I'll think of something suitably horrible."

With that, she tore off. Loghain heard her crashing through the brush. She said something that sounded like a curse and he distinctly heard the sound of her falling. And then it was deadly silent. Spurred into action, he went after her. He stumbled through the undergrowth, the brush grabbing at his clothes. A branch snapped against his face and he felt it draw blood.

The trees thinned just enough to let the light of the moon through when he spotted her laying on the ground. She was cradling her ankle, with a stricken look on her face. Her face glittered with the stains of tears.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, crouching down beside her. Her hand struck out like a snake, pushing him hard across his chest, sending him off balance. He fell back completely ungracefully and hit the back of his head against a sapling.

"Of course I'm hurt, you idiot," she spat at him. "I go chasing off into the dark to find you, spill my guts like I'm insane and then trip over a _sodding log_ and fall on my face. What do you think?"

Loghain closed his eyes. "I think I'm sorry."

"Save it," she snapped. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," he said. He wanted desperately to say something, anything that might make her understand, but he couldn't find words.

She made a face. "I'm sure it's not." She sighed. "Look, I already feel stupid enough. I don't need any help."

They sat, just looking at each other in the wan light. She blinked hard and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Did you mean it?" Loghain eventually blurted out.

"Yes," she said slowly. It looked like she was having a very hard time keeping her eyes on his. "I did. I thought I was talking to myself after all, it's rather pointless to lie at that point."

"You would think," he said. "But it is entirely possible to lie to yourself. Maker knows I've done it often enough."

"Did _you_?" she asked.

"Did I what?"

"Did _you_ mean it? I guess you didn't really _say_ anything, but you know what I mean." She looked flustered.

"I think maybe I did," he admitted.

"Then why did you leave?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Liar." Kya gave him a little grin. "I bet you know exactly why you left, you just aren't going to tell me."

"Not today," he said, running his hand through his hair. His fingers snagged on a piece of twig tangled there. Kya crept on to her knees as he struggled to untwist it. She reached up and gently pulled it out for him, holding it out like a trophy. She dropped it to the ground, but didn't move. She was very, very close.

Loghain looked up at her.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked, reaching out tentatively. She gently brushed the tips of her fingers against his cheekbone. He closed his eyes. Before he could open them again, he felt her breath against his face.

"If I kiss you, you aren't going to go chasing off into the woods again, are you?" she asked, her lips brushing against his cheek.

Loghain shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Good," she said.

And then she did. Every coherent thought Loghain had leapt out of his head to make room for the feeling of her lips and her cool hands, one on his face and the other on the back of his neck. Her fingers tangled into his hair. He felt his arms reach up as if they had minds of their own, wrapping around her. Almost unconsciously, he leaned back and she followed until she was nestled into the crook of his arm.

He forgot to breathe.

When it finally seemed like he might be content to die right then and there, she pulled away and burrowed down against him, wrapping her arm around his chest. She made a contented little sound. It was the sort of sound Loghain realized he'd always wanted to hear, but had never quite been lucky enough before to have.

"So," she said quietly. "Now what?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Loghain said. He groaned. "Anora is going to have me executed."

Kya laughed. "Yes, well, my head will be on the pike right next to yours."

"This is a bad idea," he said, turning his head to look at her. She tilted her head up and kissed his chin.

"I don't doubt it," she said. "But if I faced an archdemon, I think I can manage to face your daughter." She paused. "Eventually, anyway. And besides, I've only kissed you, I can't imagine that's grounds for a death sentence."

"Then you don't know Anora very well," Loghain chuckled.

"Well, if that's the case," she said, sitting up, but leaving her hand on his chest, "When we get to Amarathine, I promise I'll do something worthy of the punishment."

The look on her face was positively wicked.

And if Loghain had been able to have his way, he would have put her back on the horse and raced to Amaranthine so fast the horse would probably die from the strain. From the look she was giving him, he was certain it would be worth it.


	16. A Vulnerable Spot

_A/N Angst rears its ugly head. _

* * *

Kya really should have not been surprised, but Zevran was not helping matters any.

It was still more than a week to Amarathine, and it was hard enough even making eye contact with Loghain after her incredibly forward _promise_. Whenever she caught his eyes, she found herself blushing furiously. Loghain was holding up little better, but instead of being flustered, he was clearly getting frustrated and had found a reason to argue with nearly everyone that crossed his path.

"My, my," Zevran purred into her ear as she tried to casually sent up her tent. "I am not sure exactly what music is playing between the two of you, but I do recognize the tune." Kya gave him her new standard, a long suffering look. She'd learned that particular expression from Loghain.

"Do you think you could try to keep the innuendo to yourself?" she asked pointlessly, knowing that he couldn't.

Zevran gave her a very dirty smile and then turned to look at Loghain who had busied himself tending to the horses. He turned back to Kya.

"You know," he said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. "There is lovely pool in a grotto by the river here that many of your Grey Wardens have taken to bathing in. It is very quiet and secluded, and I do believe the rest have already finished their ablutions. It should be deserted by now."

"I'm sure," Kya sighed. "So secluded that you can probably tell me which of the others have birthmarks."

"I promise I won't look," Zevran replied putting his hand over his heart in a mock salute. "Although I cannot guarantee I will not _listen_."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you Zev," Kya growled, although she knew her ears had turned a brilliant shade of red under her hair.

"Or," Zevran said, gesturing subtly with his eyes, "You can watch instead, if you do not wish to partake."

Kya followed Zevran's eyes. Loghain was talking to one of the Orlesian Grey Wardens, Johan, if she was remembering correctly. He was just barely older than Kya herself, with pale yellow hair and rather shocking green eyes, but his face was deeply scarred and it gave him a fearsome appearance. Loghain seemed to like him just because of that. Although Kya was fairly certain that his bland accent didn't hurt matters.

Johan's hair was wet. He pointed towards the river, and Loghain nodded. He slapped Johan on his bare shoulder in that singularly masculine way when two men are discovering they might like to be friends. And then Loghain walked off in the direction of the river, swinging one of his saddlebags over his shoulder. The particular bag that she knew he kept his clothes in. Which meant Johan had told Loghain about the pool, just as Zevran told her. And that the opportunity Zevran so lasciviously suggested was about to present itself.

Kya thought she might die just thinking about it.

She was reminded of nights sneaking about the tower, peeking around screens and trying to get a look at the Templars. They may not have been nice to her, but they were often very nice to look at. Luckily she'd never been caught, but once Jowan found out he teased her mercilessly for weeks.

Oh Maker, _Jowan._

Any urge she had to do something inappropriate fled. Zevran was still watching her and saw the change in her expression. He looked serious suddenly, which was rare enough that she knew she must have looked unhappy indeed.

"Mia Cara," he said, reaching out and putting his hand on her arm. "I did not mean to upset you. I thought . . . ."

"It's not that Zev, although if looking sad is what I have to do to get you to behave, I'll have to keep that in mind." She tried to sound joking, but she could tell he didn't believe a word of it. But Zevran was useless when it came to this sort of thing, and he knew it. He gave her a last sad smile and slipped away.

Kya went back to struggling with her tent. She tried very hard to focus on the ropes and the canvas, but it didn't seem to be helping. It seemed to take forever to get the thing to stand, even though she'd done it hundreds of times before.

She wondered when Jowan would stop being her most vulnerable spot. He had been for so long, but she expected that once it was over, and he was gone . . . but it wasn't any easier. It was always the one thing the other apprentices could use to hurt her. And they would. They knew that insulting and abusing Kya herself had no effect. They could say whatever they wanted about her and she'd brush it off with hardly a reaction.

She assumed they were jealous. Jealous that she was talented and powerful and Irving's pet. And she was right.

But Jowan; he always struggled. Spells that Kya could cast at ten, took him until he was fifteen to master. And when they were tested against the Templars, as much to test the Templars ability to drain mana as to test the mages, Jowan was always sick for a week. Kya didn't like the feeling much herself, but in a few hours she'd be back to normal. But he would scramble to cast for days after that.

So they abused _him_ mercilessly. And maybe they would have done it anyway, but Kya always suspected that her violent reactions to their tender mercies were as much a catalyst for their abuse as Jowan himself was.

But it was only one of many things she felt guilty about, when it came to Jowan.

Kya flopped down on the ground in front of her tent once she'd finally managed to get it to stand. She rummaged through her pack. Tucked into the bottom she found what she was looking for. It was a shard of glass, wrapped in a piece of fabric torn from the bottom of her robes. A piece of glass no one knew she had. A tiny piece of glass from Jowan's shattered phylactery.

There was still the stain of his blood on it. Kya wondered at how it never seemed to wear away, no matter how long it had been jostled about in its cloth covering. But it looked as if the glass was going to be colored red forever. Blood that was rightfully on her hands.

She betrayed him, for what she thought was justice. And now he was dead.

* * *

Loghain reappeared just as the sun had finally disappeared behind the trees. His hair was still wet and his thin linen shirt stuck to his damp skin. The pale fabric outlined the chiseled lines of his torso and his impressive shoulders where they tapered down to his narrow waist. It was a pleasing enough sight; it was easy to forget he was thirty years older than she when he looked like that. Kya only wished she was still in a mood to appreciate it.

He found his way over to her hesitantly. It hadn't been easy, talking together with the new expectation between them. But at the moment, that tension was the last thing on her mind. She almost wished for a good case of fervent blushing. At least that didn't hurt so bad.

Loghain sat down beside her and Kya looked over at him. He did really look very handsome now, with his hair all loose and that astonishing expression he'd taken to wearing when he looked at her. But she looked away and back to the little piece of glass still cradled in her hands.

"What's that?" Loghain asked.

Kya looked back up at him. No one knew about how weak Jowan made her feel. Not even Loghain, not even after he stood with her when Jowan died. She wasn't sure she wanted anyone to know about it. But he was looking at her so earnestly, and he had told her things that she was certain that not even Anora knew.

If she was going to trust him, she might as well do it all the way.

"It's a piece of glass, from Jowan's phylactery," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "I took it after he broke it when he tried to escape from the tower. Right before I tried to deliver him into Greagoir's hands."

Loghain didn't reply, he just watched her. His face was carefully blank.

"You know, I just thought they were going to make him Tranquil. And I knew there was no getting out of it for him. You only have three choices as a mage that walks through the doors of the tower. You take your Harrowing, you become Tranquil, or you _die_." She sighed and her chest felt tight. "I just thought that if I went through with helping them, then Lily would be punished too. It was all her fault, after all. No matter what I did, Jowan was going to be a Tranquil. Even if it horrified him."

"I've never understood what that means, being Tranquil," Loghain said. "I have seen them, of course, very quiet and efficient. I know they don't have access to magic, but that is all."

"They don't have access to the Fade anymore," Kya explained. "They take dreams and emotions when they take the magic. The thought scared Jowan to death. Enough that he almost killed a half dozen Templars, First Enchanter Irving and me to escape it. I really didn't think he had it in him."

"And then I found him, or I found the Templars that had captured him, to be precise," Loghain said. His voice was emotionless.

Kya looked over at him again. It had been easy to forget about that part. And a lot of other things in recent days. This Loghain seemed so far removed from the man involved in all those plots and twists, that she almost willed herself to forget about them. As if all of that had just been a nightmare. But it was a bad idea to forget those things. They were a much a part of him as her dark parts – blood magic, cold pragmatism and selfishness – were a part of her.

If Loghain had been a different kind of man, she expected he might apologize for the role he played in Jowan's destruction. But he wasn't a different man. It was a harsh decision he'd made, but one she expected he only regretted for it's failure in the end.

He was who he was, after all.

"I betrayed Jowan," she said. "_I_ made this happen. I forced Jowan's hand. You would have never had the opportunity if I had not. All out of some twisted sense of justice."

"Justice is harsh; it always is," Loghain said. "I watched Maric kill the woman he loved, while she wept and cried out his name. But it was justice, and it had to be done."

"Katriel," Kya said. "The elven spy that was sent to betray him to the Orlesian king?"

He nodded. "And I watched while a piece of Maric died with her. After that night, our friendship was never the same again. But if he had not done it, he would have been a poor and a ineffectual king."

"Maybe," Kya replied. "But if she had lived, maybe Rowan and . . . ."

He cut her off. "No," he said quickly. "Rowan was Maric's queen, I always knew that."

"Don't you regret at all?" she asked.

Loghain fell silent at that. She felt something cold creep around her, like a silent wind bringing in the unmerciful depths of winter. A wall leapt up between them, solid and unyielding.

"No," he said. "And yes."

"I regret," Kya said. "But yet, when I think about it, there was no other way." She exhaled sharply. "I don't know how to reconcile it in my head."

"If you figure it out," Loghain said, his voice pensive and quiet. "Let me know."

The cold seemed to wane a bit. Kya leaned over against Loghain, and he slipped his arm around her back. The wall between them crumbled again.

"We are quite the pair, aren't we?" she commented. Loghain nodded in wordless agreement.


	17. The World in the Shape of a Woman

_A/n NSFW, well maybe a little anyway._

* * *

There had been plenty of time on the road, but Loghain realized he was intentionally neglecting to teach Kya to ride. After all, there would be more time once they reached Amaranthine. Or at least that's what he told himself.

Of course, it wasn't quite the truth.

The truth is, he wanted to protect her. He couldn't deny that having her in his arms for hours every day had no other effect on him besides that, because it certainly did. It occasionally made riding more than a little uncomfortable. But more than any base desire, it felt like if she was close, nothing could touch her.

Kya was no fragile thing, and more than capable of looking after herself. And since she'd bested _him_, it was foolish to think he was going to be able to protect her from something she couldn't manage herself. But even Loghain wasn't always sensible.

It felt to him like she was his heart, outside of his armor and his ribs, where the rocks and blades of the world were all too much of a danger. He'd felt the cold steel of a blade through his flesh enough times, and close enough to nearly take his life. The mere thought that someone might do the same to her made him cringe. At the thought, he tightened his arm around her unconsciously. He felt her hand come up over the top of his with gentle pressure.

It was the sort of gesture that might have made a different sort of man smile. But Loghain discovered he was frowning. This was a precious thing; the sort of feeling that he had long abandoned any hope of finding. And the knowledge that it would be short lived at best took the air out of his lungs and replaced it with fire.

The Taint. There was no denying it. And he already had more years than most Grey Wardens ever see. It hadn't overtaken him yet, and there was nothing to say that he too wouldn't have another thirty years. By then, he'd be old and feeble and long past caring.

It was just as likely to take him far sooner. And tear his heart away from him. She would have thirty years; she was too strong for less. Loghain wondered if his own strength could compare. But it was folly to dwell on it. Now might be all they would ever have, and Loghain forced the thoughts away.

He'd already spent far too much time living in the past, and the future.

In his past, he'd traveled this road before. But this time not as a Teryn, but as a Grey Warden. Less than an hour to the estate that Howe used to call home. The estate that he'd soon be calling home, at least for a while. It was an interesting prospect. It would be an odd thing, calling that place home. But somehow, it didn't seem as unpleasant a thought as he expected it might.

He did, however, hope that they could manage to clear Howe's stench from the place before nightfall.

* * *

The logistics were a nightmare. If someone had asked Loghain how difficult it would be to settle a company of a dozen Grey Wardens, thirty or so workmen and assorted servants into an estate – one that was in rather good repair, since Howe's own servants were still there to manage things – he would have answered that it would be simple.

But he would have been wrong. There were some downfalls to all being equals. Turns out, being commander of the Grey Wardens was more a formality than anything. They listened to what Kya suggested, but they rarely agreed or complied. She would head up the recruiting and training, but they were going to do what _they_ thought was right in regards to everything else. Maker help him, but he wanted to smash some heads together.

It wasn't helping that Kya kept giving him little glances, between all the arguing and planning. They were subtle, true, but he couldn't will himself forget what she said. And it seemed, neither could she.

Loghain wasn't sure if he was more thrilled or terrified that once the wrangling for quarters and sleeping arraignments was done. Kya was taking Howe's chambers, and he was given the ones that once belonged to Howe's son. Which meant they would be sharing the more private area of the estate.

However, for now, he was alone. He sat behind the desk in the outer chamber of his new home, pouring over maps of Amaranthine. He scowled at the poor quality of the ink that made it hard to read the faded descriptions. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling in frustration.

He was freshly bathed and trying very hard to not come up with a reason to seek Kya out. She had not sought him out, and perhaps that was for the best. He was quite serious when he told her it was a bad idea. And it was, in so many ways he couldn't even begin to list them.

Then there was a tentative rap at the door.

"Loghain?" her voice called. He got up from his chair like an old man, and moving as if he was underwater, he slowly moved to open the door. The faint scent of soap and Andraste's Grace floated in. Loghain stared at the floor; he couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he did notice that her feet were bare. He moved out of the way and gestured for her to come in.

When he finally looked up, his heart stopped.

He had walked by her side for long enough now that he assumed he knew what Kya looked like. She wore armor or mage robes, she wore darkspawn blood and once she wore a borrowed nightgown. Her hair was pale copper, in braids or tied in a knot on the back of her head. Her eyes were the color of cold blue steel. The Grey Warden he met at Ostagar was a girl-child and wore a look of awe, if only for a moment.

This was not her. She wore silk.

Her long hair was like a flame, loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of the ocean during a storm and her skin rivaled the silk with the way she glowed, fresh and pink in the lamplight. And more than those superficial things, this was no child. Beautiful and strong; this woman looked at him with warm, languorous eyes that reminded him in no uncertain terms what _he_ was.

Under layers of unending duty, unspoken regret and bitterness; within a well of cold practicality, Loghain was a _man_.

She smiled and cocked her head at him. Loghain sat down hard on the desk behind him, planting his hands on either side of his hips and gripping on to the wood for dear life.

"We're here at last," she said as she moved to stand in front of him. She stood close, but not too close.

Loghain nodded. "Yes, indeed," he replied with forced authority. "Now the real work will begin."

"Is that so?" she laughed. "I must have been confused by the whole 'end the Blight' thing as work, yes?"

"From experience, I can tell you that battles are easy in comparison to building an army from nothing," he said with a half smile. "But I have done it before, and I can help you now."

Kya gently set her hand on his knee. He tried like mad to ignore it.

"I know," she said. "One of the many reasons I asked you to come with me. Because if it was left up to me alone, we'd end up with ranks full of strays and odd cast offs. It seems to be my method of choice for recruiting."

"It does at that," Loghain said. "Although I suppose I should be glad of it, being a bit of a cast-off myself."

"Never," she said, taking a step forward until she was standing between his spread knees. "I just wish we hadn't ever been on opposite sides. We _shouldn't_ have been. Our goals were always the same, after all. Save Ferelden and end the Blight."

"I didn't give you much of a choice, did I?" he asked. His hands moved on their own accord until they were resting on his thighs. Kya put her free hand on his other knee, their finger tips only a hairbreadth apart.

"No, I suppose you didn't," she replied. She sighed and shook her head. It made her hair ripple in a loose wave and it shimmered in the dim light. "Despite how difficult it was," she continued. "I think it had to be this way. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened?"

Her hands slid forward just as his did, their fingers tangling together. Kya looked down at their entwined hands with a grin.

"What indeed," Loghain said. He let her hand go, and found himself softly touching the side of her face, tilting her eyes up to look at him. She took another small step forward, her now free hand sliding around his waist.

"It is funny, the way fate takes you in directions you never expected, don't you think?" she asked. Her fingers slid under the edge of his shirt, touching his bare skin with the most delicate touch.

Loghain shivered. "I have said it before, fate and the Maker have an odd sense of humor," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up, his lips parting just slightly.

"You are right at that," Kya said, moving until she was pressed up against him completely. Her breath warmed his cheek as she continued. "_This_, for example. Who would have guessed?"

"Certainly not I," he said, pulling away just enough to catch her eyes. "But I find that although the chances for regret here are high, I don't seem to mind."

Loghain wasn't sure if it was she that moved, of if he did. But either way, her lips were on his again, warm and demanding. His fingers slid through the mass of her hair. The world could be in flames just beyond that closed door. Orlesians might be at the gate and the damned archdemon back from the dead, but as far as Loghain was concerned, the Maker could have them. Nothing was going to tear him out of her arms.

Not tonight at least.

Loghain felt himself slide forward from his perch on the desk until he was on his feet again, his arms around her waist, pulling her up against him. The tips of her toes were on his, making her just tall enough to reach his lips still. He pressed himself against her, almost unconsciously, and she made a low sound in the back of her throat that spoke more eloquently than any words.

Both her hands slid under his the hem of his shirt, moved up the flesh of his back, over scars only slightly less obvious than the ones in his eyes. She drew away for a heartbeat, her hands insistently pulling at his shirt, yanking it off over his head. Her hands danced across the skin of his chest, pausing at a puckered scar at the junction of his shoulder.

"West Hill," he murmured, as her fingers traced the raised whiteness. "We all nearly died that day."

Any other woman and he might have to explain. But she knew his history as well as he himself did. West Hill where Maric's lover betrayed them.

Kya hushed him with a finger across his lips. "But you didn't," she whispered, a slow smile creeping on her face. "Because you are _alive_."

With an inarticulate growl, Loghain kissed her again, his hands fiercely grabbing her shoulders. His fingers tried to be tender, but he was like a man possessed. They both heard the distinctive sound of tearing silk. Momentarily shocked, he drew back. But there was no reprimand on her face, and he was entranced by the long tear he'd made in the silk, from the neckline, nearly to her waist.

Kya shrugged languidly and the shreds of silk slid to the floor. She crooked a finger at him, coaxing him forward, then turned and walked towards the bed. Loghain watched the roll of her hips as she walked and thanked the Maker for years of military discipline.

He followed, falling into her arms again like he'd always belonged there.

He could feel her moving him, inch by inch, until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She slithered out of his grasp, wriggling herself back on the bed and beckoning to him again. He knew he looked hesitant for a moment, because the suggestion of a frown made that little captivating line appear between her brows.

There would be no turning back from this. He could see that much in her eyes.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, knowing it was as foolish a question as a man had ever asked.

Kya smiled with no confusion, no hesitant stutter, no concern for the consequences. Kya smiled and said, "I love you, Loghain."

And then he was touching her again, somehow managing the divest himself of the last of his clothes as he fell into the bed beside her. The sensation of her flesh touching him as he hovered above her made him mad with desire. He _had_ thought about this moment, and he wanted to be gentle. But he found he could not.

Loghain grabbed her wrists, pinning them over her head. His mouth was desperate on hers as her knees parted and he moved in between. He wanted to wait and go slowly; he wanted to be the sort of lover he'd been taught a woman wanted -- civilized, considerate and tentative. But Kya was having none of it. She moved when he did not.

Suddenly, maddeningly, he was buried inside her. She arched up against him, her body trembling and scalding hot. He buried his face in her hair, her name on his lips more fervent than any prayer he'd ever made to the Maker.

"Kya," he whispered. "I love you."

Those words had more impact on either of them than he expected. He'd felt love, but had _never_ in his life said those words to anyone. Somehow, Kya knew this; the same way she seemed to see into his soul when she looked carefully enough. Her whole body reacted, clenching against him, tightening and fluttering in equal measures. Whatever control Loghain had vanished. He was acutely aware of the pressure of her legs curved around him as he spent himself. The world dissolved and nothing existed outside of the arms of this one woman.

The one woman who truly loved him.

He collapsed against her, too utterly satiated in both body and heart to question anything. He felt her hands move out from beneath his, wrapping around his shoulders. Loghain heard her voice in his ear, whispering and breathless. She said almost nothing coherent, just his name and the word _love_ over and over until he thought that perhaps, he had never actually been happy before. Not _ever_ until this very moment.

Loghain once thought that she overused the word _love. _He was never more exhilarated in his life to be wrong.


	18. Each Time Worse than the Last

Loghain Mac Tir was arrogant, argumentative and stubborn as a Mabari hound.

It did not make him easy to deal with at times. But he was also thoughtful, intelligent and witty, which did help blunt all those sharp edges of his. Kya found herself arguing with him frequently, but always for good reasons. Sometimes, when he would actually back down, she wondered if he was only fighting with her because he enjoyed it. Or perhaps to make sure she truly believed in what she was fighting for.

During the day, Kya and Loghain began to pick up the pieces of the shattered Grey Wardens. Loghain had a knack for telling who would and who wouldn't survive the Joining. The other Wardens told her it was only one out of every five recruits that would actually survive. Loghain's current total was one of three. They seemed a bit in awe of it; Kya knew she was.

And if he seemed equally in awe of her, it was only fair.

Kya wondered sometimes if he was different now, or if that was just her own ego. She had not known him all that long before, and it was hard to separate the man from the myth. Occasionally, she forgot he'd ever been a commoner. But sometimes he would remind her with shocking and endearing clarity.

She'd found him this morning, splitting wood with the servants. Bare chested and _laughing_ with the other men, stacking the wood into a cord and looking for all the world like a thirty year old farmhand, and not at all like the brusque Teryn of Gwaren he once was.

Of course, once it was finished, and he was washed and back into his armor, he argued with her for an hour about the new batch of recruits. And this was going to be one of the times he refused to back down.

"Maker's Blood, woman," he snapped, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "The Grey Wardens are not a refuge for the pathetic. I don't care if we recruit murders and thieves, as long as they are suitable. But these are refugees, and not a one has the willpower to master the taint."

"I know you think you have supernatural intuition Loghain," she said, her voice grim. "But if you have forgotten, you have been known to be wrong. I _will_ allow them to undergo the Joining. If they die, they die. But it is their choice and I won't turn them away."

"You are going to turn the Wardens into a nursery! We need to be strong!" Loghain was yelling now.

Kya lowered her voice, stared at him. "The matter is _settled._ They will be tested. That's final."

"As you wish," he said, bitter and sarcastic. "But if you want to see them all die, why don't you just let them fall on your sword, instead of wasting lyrium?"

"Enough already," she sighed. But Loghain's face was grim, and his jaw was set. She would have her way, but he wasn't going to like it. "Look, I have a pile of paperwork on my desk the size of a dragon. I don't have time to argue with you."

"Then don't," he said. "Listen to _reason_."

Kya shook her head. "Yes, well, I'm unreasonable. Get used to it."

Loghain's teeth were grinding and he had probably given himself a headache. She was too exasperated to care.

"I will be in my office," Kya said, utterly done with the argument. "If anyone needs me. Or cares to apologize for being an ass."

"Ha," Loghain snorted. "Don't hold your breath."

Kya would have growled at him, but that just served to encourage him. She stalked off to her office, leaving him looking self-righteous and frustrated as ever. She slammed the door behind her, discovering that the dragon size pile of paperwork had grown since she was last there. Not just dragon sized, but high-dragon sized. She folded her arms on the one clear space on the desk, resting her forehead in her hands.

Being in love with the Hero of River Dane was a real pain in the ass.

* * *

"Commander?" a voice called through the door. Kya's head snapped up. She had never been happier to be disturbed; the words were starting to blur together and be meaningless.

"Come in," she invited. It was Torias, one of the newest Wardens, a young elf from the alienage in Highever. He looked harried, and carried more paper.

"Please don't tell me you are bringing me more work," Kya sighed.

"No," he replied. "I . . . no."

Kya raised her eyebrows at him. "You look nervous. Just spit it out," she said, amending her harsh tone with a smile. "Loghain didn't kill someone, did he?"

Torias laughed despite himself. "Not today, although he looked like he wanted to," he said. "Actually, he's waiting just down the hall. I have messages, and well . . . ."

"What?" Kya snapped.

"They're from Denerim," he finally managed. "From the King."

"Andraste's ass," Kya sighed. "What do they want?"

"I don't know," Torias said, handing her the bundle of paper. "The letters are all sealed, and the messengers wouldn't say."

Kya paged through the pack. The one on the top had her name in Alistair's familiar scrawl. Beneath it, one for Loghain in a delicate cursive script. From Anora, she imagined. Kya pulled it out of the pack, handing it to Torias.

"Give this one to Loghain, and ask him to come and see me once he's read it," Kya said. "I don't have to read it to know we'll need to talk afterwards."

"Very good," he said. He took the letter and left.

Hesitantly, Kya broke the wax seal on the letter with her name.

_Kya –_

_I need a favor. _

_The official request for the Commander of the Grey Wardens is in the big mess of paperwork, but I wanted to ask you personally._

_We found Cailan's body. Or what was left of it anyway, when we went back to clear out Ostagar. There's going to be a state funeral, and all the ceremony that goes with that in Denerim eventually. But first we are going to Ostagar. _

_I want to have a memorial for all those who died there. I owe it to Duncan, the other Grey Wardens, to the lost soldiers, and to my brother, I suppose. _

_You once said you would go with me to put up something in Duncan's honor. It isn't what I planned originally, but all of Ostagar is going to be a monument now. And I __**need**__ you to come. You were there; I'm sure you understand why._

_I know we didn't part on good terms, but no matter what ever else happened, we are friends, aren't we?_

_So please come. _

– _Alistair_

Kya wanted to curse, but couldn't think of anything suitable to express how she felt. The very last place she ever wanted to see again was Ostagar. But she did promise Alistair once, and she didn't like the idea of going back on it.

She was many things, plenty of them curse words themselves, but she wasn't the sort of person that broke promises. Not even foolish ones made in another lifetime.

The door swung open and hit the wall forcefully. Kya looked up to see Loghain standing in the doorway, looking like a wild animal. He looked even more grim than when she'd left him earlier.

"I take it your letter was as enjoyable as mine," Kya said.

He growled.

'That good?" she replied. "Yes, I suppose it was. Alistair asked me to go to this memorial they are having at Ostagar."

"As Anora asked me," Loghain said finally. "She ordered it in fact. She said she knew that the crown has no authority over Grey Wardens, but she said she didn't care."

"That sounds about right," Kya sighed. "Alistair went the pleading route himself."

Loghain leaned against the frame of the door, raking his fingers through his hair. "So I assume if I fight you on this, _you_ will order me instead and I'll have no choice."

"You have that one right," Kya said. "If I have to go back there, so do you."

"You do realize it is entirely likely that someone will try to kill me," he said tonelessly.

"Possibly," she said. "And if you keep acting like an ass, it might just be me."

He smiled bitterly at that. "I recall you were unable to finish the task the last time it was offered to you."

"Don't push your luck," Kya replied, a hint of humor creeping into her voice even though she tried to sound fierce. "I've gotten a bit more aggressive recently. There's this egomaniac that keeps telling me I need to be."

"Indeed you have," he said. "I've created a monster."

Kya's humor fled. "Yes," she said. "Monsters, all of us."

* * *

After wading through the mountain of official documents, she discovered that in order to reach Ostagar in time, they would need to leave soon. Tomorrow in fact.

The last few months living in the same place, after a year on the road, made Kya loathe to leave. Not to mention the fact the she would need to deal with Ostagar itself and what happened there. And so would Loghain. If he showed regret, he would despise himself; if he did not, everyone else would.

And then there was their personal entanglement. Not that Loghain was particularly demonstrative, not in public anyway, but it was known. The other Wardens seemed to think nothing of it. There was no animosity towards him from them, although they could have been rightfully angry considering what happened at Ostagar. But to the other Wardens, he was a brother first. Whatever he did before was of no consequence.

Kya felt that way too, at times. But she knew it wouldn't be true outside these walls.

Grey Warden or not, outside of Amarantine, Loghain was many things. He was still the Hero of River Dane, the man that helped put King Maric back on his grandfather's throne. He had been the leader of Ferelden's armies for as long as Kya had been alive. He was the queen's father. And he was also the man that turned his army away and left King Cailan to die.

Kya knew he'd tried to talk Cailan out of it. She knew that he hadn't wanted to betray Maric, but Cailan had left him no other choice. It was the King's life, or everyone else's lives. He told her that he had, on several occasions, abandoned what he should have been doing to save Maric. That was, until Maric insisted he never do it again. Maric understood the needs of the 'greater good.' But it was a hard road, and a hard case to make to anyone.

All anyone else saw was a river of blood, and a man turning his back on it.

When Kya finally stumbled back to her own room, weary to death with planning to leave again and with running in circles in her mind, she found Loghain already there. He'd started the fire, and was sitting quietly in one of the pair of chairs in front of it. His hands were steepled under his chin. Kya thought for a moment about taking the other chair, but instead she sank down on the floor in front of him. He moved forward as she leaned against him, his arm coming around to hold her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being an ass."

"Seriously? You're apologizing?" Kya said incredulously, although she didn't move except to put her hand over his forearm where it was wrapped around her. "Maker's breath, this does have you rattled as badly as I am."

"I hate to admit it," he said. "But yes. Although perhaps not for the reasons you might expect."

"Do you want to tell me?" she asked.

"Not particularly."

Kya snorted. "Well, I guess you aren't _that_ rattled then. If you can still be obstinate and laconic."

"I talk to you more than anyone else in my life," he replied. "Except maybe Maric. What more do you want from me?"

Kya turned around to look at him, crawling up on to her knees so they were eye to eye. Loghain looked miserable.

"I just wish I could help," she said. "I am a little surprised by it, but it turns out it pains _me_ when you get like this. Not because I want something from you. I just like it better when you are happy."

"Happiness has been rare," he replied. "I've had more of it in the last few months than in the rest of my life. But it is fleeting."

"I know," she replied, leaning forward and kissing him. He relaxed against her a little. "But we have to do this, you know that."

"I do," he replied. "It is just that I can't help but be reminded of something that Maric told me. It was shortly after we met. We were in the Korcari Wilds, running. And we were captured by the Dalish. They took us to a witch . . . and if I think about it now, after what you have told me, it was probably Flemeth."

"What?" Kya asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes," he continued. "And she told him something, something about me. She said _'Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last'_ and I can't help but accept that she was right, at last."

"Perhaps," Kya said, unsure about how to reply. "But Cailan might still be dead, even if you had charged. And then you'd be dead along side him."

"It may have been a more fitting death," he said. "Better than dying forgotten in the Deep Roads."

Kya put her hand on his face and met his eyes. "You will not be forgotten."

Loghain sighed. "I think _that_ is what I'm most afraid of."


	19. Pigtails and Skinned Knees

Loghain was proud of how fierce and comfortable Kya looked on her horse. She'd taken to riding quickly once he'd taken the time to teach her. She looked beautiful and commanding in her Warden plate. That he would admit to and tell her, ignoring the snide looks from the other Wardens.

He did however miss the feeling of her curled up in the saddle in front of him. He was also anxious and nauseous as the Royal Enclave came into view, a throng of huge tents pitched just outside the ruins of Ostagar. But he wouldn't admit that openly, not even to himself.

Focusing on the rhythm of the horse's hooves against the hard packed ground, he took a deep breath. Maker spit on anyone who would judge him. And judge him they would, he had no doubt. But he did what had to be done. Despite his self recrimination before they left Amaranthine, he did not challenge his own decisions. What was done was done.

As the distance between their position and the tents closed, he could see the familiar glimmer of the gold dragon armor in the wan sunlight. The King's armor; or a child playing at being King, as the case might be. Behind him was the blue and gold tent, decorated with banners flying the brisk wind. A part of Loghain hoped irrationally that they'd ride up to the tent, and instead of Alistair, it would be Maric standing there. He'd had that same amused, wry look on his face he always did when he dealt with Loghain. But for the first time, he did not hope for Rowan to appear at his side. He and Maric had both broken her heart enough already.

He looked up at Kya, sitting tall in the saddle. He mused on the way a few tendrils of her hair had fallen loose and curled at the base of her neck. But oddly, it felt like this would not have hurt Rowan. Not as all the other choices they made had done. Somehow he knew that these stolen moments of happiness for him would have made Rowan smile. It was a surprising conclusion, that.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Kya bring her horse back next to his. Her pace slowed and his mount followed suit until they were at a slow walk.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked.

Loghain grunted. "Is one ever ready for the noose?"

"Don't," Kya sighed. "Let's not go into this assuming they are going to lock us up in Fort Drakon, shall we?"

"I have no concerns in that regard," Loghain replied. "The _King_ doesn't have the stomach for it."

"There's that," she said, reaching her hand out to him. Loghain took it, and heedless of her metal gauntlet, he leaned over and kissed her fingers.

"Practicing your courtly manors, milord?" she joked. Loghain frowned and she did in return. "Sorry," she continued. "Failed attempt at humor."

"Ah, don't mind me," he said, shaking his head. "I'm bound to be more irritable than usual, I imagine."

"Is that possible?" she replied, still trying to lighten the mood.

"We'll see."

And they would, sooner than he'd hoped. A pair of guards in the plated mail armor of the King's soldiers appeared at the trail head into the makeshift palace.

"State your business," the first barked. Kya squared her shoulders.

"Do you not recognize the Grey Wardens?" she asked. Her voice sounded suitably forceful, Loghain thought. She learned quickly.

"I apologize my lady," the guard replied promptly, looking sheepishly over his shoulder. Loghain followed the man's eyes in time to see Alistair's head snap up at the mention of the Wardens.

"Please, if you will," Kya said, "I am not a _lady _in that sense. If you wish to use a title, call me Commander or Warden. Although I would prefer you use my name. I am Kya."

"I am sorry, my l . . . Commander," the second guard stuttered, looking horrified. "We apologize for not recognizing the Hero of Ferelden."

"Yes, well," she sighed. "You can dispense with that appellation as well, thank you."

"As you wish," he said again. "The King wished to see you as soon as you arrived. Can we take your horses?"

Loghain swung down quickly, handing his reins to the flustered guard.

"Yes, thank you," he said. He came around to the side of Kya's horse, and glanced over his shoulder. Alistair was still watching them. In an uncharacteristically intimate move, he reached up and offered his hand to help Kya dismount. She looked at him dubiously.

"Seriously?" she whispered. "You want this to be obvious now?"

Perhaps it was madness, but he did and his hand didn't waver. He gave her a long look. She shook her head at him, but took his offered hand. She swivelled down from the saddle, and he grabbed her by the waist to help her descent.

"My, my," she muttered. "You surprise me every day, Loghain Mac Tir. Next thing I know you'll be kissing me in public."

"You never know," he replied, his voice low. She gave him a strange, worried look and then turned her head, she too spotting Alistair staring at them incredulously.

"Alright," she said. "You need to let go now before the King dies over there without an heir. You recall how that went last time?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Loghain nodded and reluctantly let his hands drop to his sides. She turned away from him and marched toward the King's tent.

Loghain alternately watched her and Alistair's eyes watching her as he followed. He felt the distinct desire to growl. It was absolutely insane, and he knew it. This man child was his daughter's husband. And more than that, Alistair was a fool and had let Kya go; but something inherently masculine reared its head inside of Loghain when he thought of their past entanglement.

Kya belonged to no one but herself, he knew that. He also knew that he should be far more concerned with the castigation that was awaiting him. But after a lifetime of reserve and self abnegation, he was allowed a bit of animal territoriality. It was as good an excuse as any.

"Your Majesty," Kya said, bowing slightly as they reached the King.

Alistair was standing behind a long table, his hands spread out on the top as if he was trying to steady himself. On the polished wood surface there was a narrow battered chest and various drawings of the layout of Ostagar. Loghain recognized them both immediately, the trunk and the maps.

The trunk was Cailan's. He kept Maric's dragonbone sword inside; the sword he intended to use to slay the archdemon little did he know that he could not have done the deed. And Loghain recalled vividly using those maps to plan the battle he never took part in.

He felt a sting in his chest. It wasn't regret. _Never_ regret.

"Commander Kya," Alistair replied. His eyes glanced in Loghain's direction for a moment, but he did not address him. "You have finally arrived."

"Indeed," she said, all cold formality. "I apologize for our delay. It is a long road from Amaranthine."

"Yes, it is, but the ceremonies are not scheduled to begin until tomorrow, so you have come in time," Alistair replied.

"Lucky us," Loghain said, half under his breath, but loud enough for Alistair to hear him. Kya shot him an annoyed look, but didn't say anything.

Alistair had the sense to ignore him. "I would like to speak with you about the ceremony, actually. I would like . . . ." Before he could finish he was cut off by Anora rushing out of the tent behind him.

"Father!" she said excitedly. She immediately looked shocked by her own outburst and composed herself quickly. "I am glad to see you," she continued, more quietly. She made her way around the table and took Loghain's arm

"Are you well?" she asked.

"I am," he replied. His voice lost its harsh tone. Politics aside, this was his daughter, and he loved her. Whatever else he might be and had been, he was always her father.

"Let us speak privately," she said, pulling him away. "I do not doubt the King and the _Commander_ have things to discuss." She used Kya's title as if it was an insult. "As do we."

Loghain let her lead him away, glancing just once back over his shoulder at Kya. She watched them go with a bemused look on her face. Anora caught his look however, and she on the other hand, did not look amused at all.

* * *

"Is it true?" Anora asked him, her hands on her hips. She had dragged him into one of the smaller tents at the edge of the encampment, although the canvas would only provide limited privacy at best.

"Are you going to tell me what the question is, or do I have to guess?" Loghain replied.

Anora was incensed. "Don't play stupid, this is serious," she snapped. "Do you think word would not reach us about what is happening in Amaranthine?"

"What is happening in Amaranthine is that we are trying to rebuild the Grey Warden numbers and turn these new recruits into warriors," he replied factually.

"I'm sure it's very fascinating," she replied. "But you know damn well what I'm asking you father. Are you . . . _fraternizing_ with her?"

"What does that matter?" Loghain asked.

"Are you mad?" she shouted. Again, clearly disturbed by her own outburst, she dropped her voice dramatically. "What does it matter indeed? How could you possibly trust her? She tried to kill you!"

"She chose not to," Loghain said, shaking his head. "I doubt she's going to have a sudden change of heart now."

"Change of heart is it?" she sighed. "So it is like that is it? Is that what it takes to get affection from you? Attempted murder?"

"Being bested in a duel is hardly murder," he replied. He watched as Anora's face wavered between anger and sadness.

"She _destroyed_ you!" Anora shouted. There was no way they were not being overheard now, but she no longer seemed to care. "Before this began, you were the Teryn of Gwaren, the Hero of River Dane, the regent of Ferelden and the leader of her armies! Now you are Grey Warden who will probably die before you even reach sixty!" Loghain looked at her incredulously. He knew that the Taint would likely catch up with him, far sooner than most, but how would Anora know this? It was one of the many Grey Warden secrets.

She seemed to hear his question without him needing to speak. "Did you think I would not ask my _husband_?_" _She said the word with distaste. "Did you think he would not tell me what it means to be a Grey Warden? He is tainted, just as you are. I know what that means." She sighed hard and turned away from him.

Loghain couldn't see her, but he knew she was twisting her hands together. It was a habit whenever she was upset.

"Most of my life," she said. "Most of my life you were _gone_, leaving mother and I behind in Gwaren while you were in Denerim with Maric. You avoided us, like we were some horrible secret, instead of the family you were supposed to love." She sighed again. "Once I was Queen, I finally had my father. For the first time in my life. And now the Grey Wardens and their _Commander_ are taking you away from me again."

Loghain stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Anora," he said, his voice quiet. He turned her to face him. Her eyes were red, but dry. Anora Mac Tir Theirin did not weep, not even when her mother died. Not even when Cailan died.

"Anora, I am sorry I was not the father to you that you wanted," he said. "But believe me when I tell you that my absence from Gwaren had nothing to do with you."

"How can I?" she said softly. "How could I think anything else? What else could it have been?"

Anora didn't know. And Loghain intended to keep it that way. She didn't know it was Rowan that came between him and his wife; between him and Maric. She wasn't going to know that it was jealousy and bitterness that destroyed him. But she needed to not live her life in the same way.

He had no idea she felt this way.

"I . . . cannot explain," Loghain said finally. "But I can say that you are my daughter. And I never wished to hurt you. I have only wanted for your happiness."

Anora looked at the ground. "I know," she said. "And I want the same for my father. No matter what that means."

"Then do not do this," he said, tilting her face up to look at him. "I _am_ happy now. As happy as I can be, being who I am. I am finally free of the duty that stripped my happiness, and took your father from you."

She nodded. "Yes, you are right, as always," she said. "But as much as anything, it is odd to think of my father involved with a woman who is not my mother. Not to mention younger than I."

Loghain gave a half smile. "Daughters never grow up. They are six years old with pigtails and skinned knees, forever."

"Then I can assume you can forgive my tantrum?" she asked. "And . . . all the horrible things I said about you at the Landsmeet?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he said, folding her into an embrace. "Sometimes little girls do strange things."


	20. Completely

_A/N Naughty, naughty. _

_

* * *

  
_

"Don't you remember what you said before the Landsmeet?" Kya asked Alistair. "I would think you of all people would understand my reluctance."

Alistair sighed. He sounded frustrated. "Yes, I do remember," he said.

"Then do not ask this of me," Kya replied. "I don't want to give a sodding speech about what happened here. I _can't._"

"It's because of _him,_ isn't it?" Alistair gave her a hard look. His eyes narrowed.

Kya returned the look in kind. "What does it matter what my reasons are?"

"It matters to me," he said.

They too had retreated into a tent. Although calling it a tent was a bit of stretch. It had more in common with the throne room in Denerim than with the tiny canvas triangles they spent a year living out of. There were a pair of fine chairs sitting in the front of the room, makeshift thrones as it were. Alistair flopped down into one as if it was a couch in a tavern, not a symbol of his command.

The idea of Alistair with power was a bit unnerving, but Kya tried to ignore it. It was her influence that gave it to him, after all.

She turned away from him. "I thought we were done with this."

"Did you now?" he asked sarcastically.

"Stupid of me, I'm sure," she replied, turning back to face him. He was slouching and it was entirely too familiar.

"Do I have to make a royal command or something to get you to cooperate with me?" he said.

Kya frowned. "You Theirin's have this funny idea that you have some sort of influence with Grey Wardens that you do not," she said. "Or did you forget about that bit already?"

"Hardly," he replied. His aggravated tone was unbecoming. "But that won't stop me."

"And it won't command me," she snapped.

Alistair sat up in the chair. "Then do it because you _owe_ me."

"For what?" Kya asked, annoyed.

"For ruining me," he said. He stood up and moved toward her quickly, grabbing her shoulders with uncharacteristic roughness. "For forcing me to be King, for forcing me to marry Anora and worst of all, ruining any chance I might actually love her someday."

"Ha," she snorted. "That is all hardly my fault. You can _blame_ Eamon for the royal title and the royal wife; those were his idea. Although you have a funny idea that being King is a punishment." She sighed, looked up and met his eyes.

She'd forgotten how young Alistair was, which was odd in and of itself, since he was still older than she. But with all the months she'd spent with Loghain, she'd forgotten that men came in any other type than he was.

She had also forgotten, perhaps willed herself to forget, that the King of Ferelden was very tall, very handsome and clearly still very much in love with her.

"As for that other part," she said quietly. "That is your doing, not mine. I did the right thing, and the thing you told me to. You are the one that said there was no 'us' only . . . how did you put it again? . . . 'the woman who stabbed me in the back and her pet traitor' . . . don't you remember that _I_ tried to change your mind? But you wouldn't have it." She gave him a fierce look. "And if you regret it now, regret leaving me on the eve of battle to face the Archdemon alone . . . well, that's _your_ fault. And don't you forget it."

Kya felt his fingers dig into her shoulders. "You were hardly alone," he said through his clenched teeth. "You had an army and you had _him_." He was frowning hard, and his eyebrows sunk down over his eyes. She remembered that expression well. "If you don't remember, I gave you a choice too, me or him. And you chose him."

"I chose the only sensible decision. I chose to be a sodding Grey Warden and do what was necessary to end the Blight,." She spoke slowly and quietly. His eyes were boring into hers unmercifully. "And if the sacrifice I had to make to have it be so was to lose you, then it was as it had to be."

She expected he would let her go then, but he didn't. Alistair's hands were immobile on her shoulders. His only movement was his eyes. He seemed to be forcing himself to look back at her eyes, again and again.

"Or did you forget what the Wardens stand for?" she continued. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, _sacrifice._"

"You aren't dead," he said. His voice was suspiciously quiet.

"You still don't know how close a thing that was, do you?" she asked.

Alistair's frown deepened. "I know you were supposed to die when you killed the archdemon, yes. But I didn't know it then."

"And if you had?" she snapped. Kya tried to pull herself away, jerking her shoulder back, but he held her fast in place.

"Then I would have done it," he said. "And I wouldn't have to live with all of _this_. My magnificent prison."

Kya snorted. "Prison indeed," she said. "You have no idea what that means, _your Majesty._"

"I know exactly what it means," he snarled. "But it still doesn't answer how you are still alive, how _he_ is still alive."

Kya wanted to lie. But although Alistair might have made looking stupid into an art, she knew better. He wasn't stupid, and he wasn't going to accept that she didn't know how she survived. She could already tell by the expectant look on his face that he was demanding an answer. And intended to get one.

"That is none of your concern," she said. She only hoped she sounded half as angry as she felt. "You left the Grey Wardens. Our concerns are not yours." She jerked her shoulder again and this time managed to wrench herself out from under his hands. "How _dare_ you even ask?"

Alistair's hands fell limply to his sides. He looked at the ground.

"I didn't want it to be like this," he said. "I'm sorry."

Kya snorted. "Apologize all you like," she said. "I won't accept it until you accept that some decisions, hard though they may be, are still the right ones to make." She waited until he looked up again to continue. He looked back at her with a conflicted expression.

"When you accept that making Loghain a Grey Warden was the reasonable choice, I will accept your apology," she said. "When you accept that Loghain pulling the army out of Ostagar was the only choice left to him – that it was sensible to save the army when the only choices were the King and the Wardens die, or they _all_ die – then I will accept that you are actually sorry."

Alistair looked incensed. "It may have been _sensible_, but that doesn't make it right."

"Perhaps not," she said, turning away from him. "But we did end the Blight, and that is all the matters, in the end."

"But at what cost?" he replied.

Kya closed her eyes. There was a clearly a cost here, that was true. She wasn't so blind that she could ignore it. There was a trail of bodies in her wake that turned even her stomach, if she took the time to think about it. There were shattered dreams and hopes in equal measure. And worst of all, who knows what Morrigan planned to do with her demon baby?

But as Loghain said, self-recriminations never help. All they do is make you blind to what you have to do to move on.

"Yes, you are right, about the speech anyway," Kya said, her voice bland and toneless, as she turned back around. She would answer one of his questions at least. "It is because of him."

Alistair looked ill. "Do you love him?"

"I do," she replied bluntly.

"That's the most disgusting thing I have ever heard," he said, sitting down again. "I don't know why I asked you to come."

"Neither do I," she replied. "But here I am anyway."

"Why did you come then?" he asked. He was pale as a sheet.

"Because I promised you I would," she said. "And I don't break promises."

"Don't you?" he said. His voice was strained.

"No, I don't," she said. "And before you say anything else, remember that I never promised you anything, except this."

"You knew it was going to end up like this all along, didn't you?" he said softly.

"What? I didn't know anything," she replied incredulously. "Do you think I had some intricate plan the day Duncan took me from the Circle that I'd become some sort of indulgent betrayer -- or whatever it is you think I am -- of the King of Ferelden, a king I put on the throne, and then end up in bed with Loghain Mac Tir?" Kya shook her head. "Yes, it was my grand and fiendish plan. Worked out well don't you think?"

"I still just don't understand how you could do it," he said, looking down at his hands and then back up at her.

"You don't understand, because you don't understand me," she replied. "And all in all, I think that is for the best. For what its worth, I will stand up there beside you, and I'll drag Loghain up there kicking and screaming if I have to. And we'll be there looking suitably stoic while you and Anora speak tomorrow. That's the best I can offer you."

"I guess that will have to be enough then," he said.

"Indeed," she replied. "I will see you tomorrow then, _Your Majesty_." The tone of her voice was final, abrupt. Kya could tell by the look in Alistair's eyes that he understood something at last. It had finally dawned on him that the Hero of Ferelden that he thought he loved had never really existed at all.

"Until tomorrow, _Commander_," he replied, gesturing towards the door. It did seem a rather regal gesture. Kya nodded and turned away before he could see the strange, sad smile creep on to her face.

He hated her now. And for both of them, it was the best thing that could have happened.

* * *

"So it appears that Anora is not going to have me executed after all," Loghain said as he walked up to Kya.

She was standing at the top of a rise, just above where they had held the meeting so long ago on the eve of the failed battle of Ostagar. It was where she met Alistair, in fact. She had discarded her armor. There was not going to be another battle today, not after her battle with the King. And armor had been useless in that fight anyway.

She was leaning against the remnant of a wall, her head resting back against one of the few remaining pillars the darkspawn war machine had not managed to destroy.

"Good to know," she replied softly. "Because if the king had his way, we'd both be leaving Ostagar in a box."

"You told him then?" Loghain asked, folding his arms across his chest. He had removed his armor as well, which seemed odd for a man expecting to be assassinated. But Loghain was funny that way.

"I did," she sighed. "It was fun. He is _exceptionally_ reasonable you know."

"So I've gathered," he said, smug. "You didn't expect different, did you?"

Kya shook her head, still pressed against the close stone. "I don't know." She sighed again, trying to keep the unexpected nostalgia she was feeling out of her voice. Loghain took a step towards her but stopped when she spoke again.

"This is where I met him, you know," she said. "This exact spot."

"Is that so?" Loghain said, but it didn't sound like a question. It sounded more like an accusation.

Kya ignored his tone. "Yes, and that night, right before the battle began, I became a Grey Warden."

Loghain had no reply, except to take a step back.

"It's funny, actually," she continued. "I forgot about most of that, but being back here, I can't help but remember. And that man in the tent, in the gold dragon armor? He's not the same person I met here."

"We were all different then," he said. "It seems like someone else's life."

"I remember thinking it was so odd that he was a Templar, but he didn't look at me as if I was going to transform into an abomination at any minute," she said. "It was a nice change. He was more surprised that I was a woman, than a mage." She gave a bitter little laugh. "Even you only commented on my magic, although at the time I expected I was just one more annoyance."

"I honestly don't recall," he said. "I do remember meeting you, yes, but nothing much beside that. Although it seems your recollection of those days is clearer than mine."

Kya looked at him closely. He looked angry, and she had no idea why.

"I suppose they would be," she continued, trying to gauge his reaction. "I just think that maybe I miss the old Alistair a little. He was good to me, and I hadn't had much of that in my life up until that point."

"Do you now?" Loghain snapped. "Is that how it is then?"

"How what is?" Kya asked. She really didn't understand his reaction. He looked positively livid.

"You _miss_ him, do you?" he snapped again. "I supposed it was only a matter of time."

"What are you talking about?"

Loghain took a step forward again. It was not a intimate move; it felt menacing.

"I've been here before," he said, his teeth grinding. "I thought this was different, but again I am the lesser man to a Theirin. Hardly surprising though."

Kya's mouth dropped open. "You don't think that I still . . . ."

He cut her off. "Don't you?"

"No," she said incredulously. "I miss my _friend_, and my own innocence. Not anything else."

"I find that hard to believe," he said.

"Believe it, Loghain," she said. "I'm not harboring any hidden feelings for Alistair, trust me."

"Are you sure?" he said, taking another step forward until he was looming over her.

If Alistair was tall, Loghain was a giant. As if the cold intensity of his eyes wasn't intimidating enough already. Those palest of blue eyes that seemed to see every dark shadow, no matter how well hidden. But Kya had nothing to hide, not about this anyway. She looked back at him, unblinking.

"Positive," she replied.

Loghain gave her a sudden surprised but devilish smile. "Good," he said, taking another step forward and putting his hands on her shoulders. He pinned her roughly against the pillar. "But there is still one thing."

"What's that?" she asked, not struggling against his weight pushing her into the stone. The stone was cold and rough, but his hands were hot.

"I think it best if your memory of this place is altered," he said. He leaned in until his lips were against her ear. When he spoke again his voice was low and husky. "All I want you to remember when you think of this place is me."

Kya smiled slowly, feeling his lips move against her ear and slowly down her neck. She shivered. Abruptly, he spun her around, pressing her tightly against the stone wall. She felt his hands between them, pulling at her robes.

"Right here?" she whispered.

He ground himself against her roughly. "Right here, right now," he said as he managed to work the back of her robes up around her waist. She felt the press of his skin against her. He tilted her hips back against him. He pushed his foot between her ankles and kicked her legs apart. Then he stopped. Kya could feel his heart beating rapidly against her back.

"Despite what people think," he said. "I have had little in my life I could actually call _mine._" He pressed closer. Kya could feel his burning heat against the skin of her thigh. He was almost there, but not quite.

"What I want to know," he continued. "Is if you are? For what little time that we might have, I want to know if you are mine."

"Completely," she said, turning her head so that her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

He made an inarticulate sound as he thrust his hips, burying himself inside her. His action pushed Kya hard against the cold stone of the pillar. But she didn't feel the jagged rock, she only felt Loghain pushed up within her, moving with a punishing rhythm. He was like a man possessed.

Kya braced herself with her hands, pushing back against him. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, and the other enfolded over hers where it was pressed against the stone. Kya hung on for dear life.

He seemed to move endlessly until she thought she would collapse from the pleasure of it. Maybe everyone else thought they were wrong, maybe they were both completely ignoble and had done all the wrong things. But at this moment, it just seemed entirely too _right_ for any of that to matter.

Maker spit on them all.

When it felt like she couldn't possibly take any more, when she knew her own body had responded to his more times than she was capable of counting, he shuttered against her. She felt the tremors, felt his whole body tense against her, his breath ragged. Finally spent, he sunk down to his knees, taking her with him. He cradled her in his lap, his face buried in her hair.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Kya knew what was to come. It was only a matter of time, one way or the other, they would be parted. But that didn't matter. Even knowing it wouldn't last forever, didn't make it any less substantial.

At fifteen, she wanted the Teryn of Gwaren to be her father. At seventeen, she was infatuated with the Hero of River Dane. At twenty, she met Loghain Mac Tir for the first time right before the battle at Ostagar and she wanted to prove herself to him.

This man was a little bit of all those things, and she desired a bit of each from him. But he was also more than any other those things.

Names didn't matter. Titles be damned. Right now, they were just a man and a woman, holding on to a fragile thing that they knew would eventually break. Just as with everything else in life, death and duty would separate them someday.

But not today.


	21. Maric's Blade

The ceremony was not nearly as painful as he expected. Loghain had almost been able to see the heckling and the vulgar comments behind his eyes for hours before they stood in front of the assembled crowd. But instead it was silent and reverent. The crowd was so quiet with not even the expected interruptions of coughing and shuffling feet. He wasn't sure how to take it.

Kya stood beside him, teeth clenched and pale. She seemed to be making it a point to not look at the play-King as he spoke. Loghain wanted to tear apart every word Alistair said, but found he couldn't. Anora was a good influence on him after all. The boy was learning quickly it seemed, and he spoke in a measured but passionate voice. And even more surprisingly, he seamlessly avoided the entire subject of his own absent charge. It went unspoken, but certainly no one in attendance had forgotten it. Least of all, himself.

Despite the calm nature of the speech, Loghain was glad when it was over. He wanted nothing more than to slink away, before he had to face one more set of accusing eyes. Perhaps they hadn't thrown stones, but their hard expressions were just as bruising.

Once, Loghain Mac Tir was a hero. Today, he felt like a dirty secret.

He tried to disappear into the crowd, but he felt a hand grab his elbow harshly. He snapped his head back, expecting to see Kya. Instead it was Alistair, of all people. And Kya was no where to be found.

"What?" Loghain growled. It wasn't really the appropriate way to address the King of Ferelden, but it was no different than the way he spoke to Maric for all those years. Old habits die hard.

Alistair looked unconcerned about Loghain's tone, but looked deadly serious nonetheless.

"We need to talk," Alistair said quietly.

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "About exactly what, _Your Majesty_?"

"Don't," Alistair snapped. "You don't want to say it any more than I want to hear it. Especially not from you."

"As you wish," Loghain sighed. "Regardless, I still would like to know what we could possibly have to say to each other."

"Look," Alistair sighed. "I don't like you and you don't like me. But . . . Maker's breath, just come with me."

Loghain shook his head at Alistair's back. He had no idea what Alistair could conceivably want from him. Certainly not his scintillating conversational skills, he was sure, but Loghain followed nonetheless. Think what he might about the boy's parentage, but he was still the King of his beloved Ferelden and as such, he had to respect the title, at least. Not that he'd done right by the last King, however.

The thought hit Loghain hard. Maric's sons, both of them. And Cailan; Dead by his hand as surely as if he'd run him through like Maric had to Katriel. Loghain did what had to be done and he believed it still, but as he watched Alistair walk he realized just how much both Maric's sons were like him. And Maric was the brother he never had. And now? If Maric were here, he would do to Loghain what he did to his elven lover. And honestly, he'd deserve it.

Loghain promised Maric he'd look out for Cailan, no matter what. _Maker's breath._

Alistair stopped suddenly as they reached the enclave again, putting his hands on either side of the trunk that was still perched on top of the table. Loghain had been surprised that Maric's blade had not made an appearance during the memorial, and wondered at it more as Alistair slowly opened the chest. The lid fell open with a dull thud.

Loghain heard the distinct sound of the dragonbone blade being pulled from it's sheath. It sounded nothing like steel. It reminded him of the hollow, almost wet sound of an arrow striking flesh. It was a sound Loghain knew well.

Now it felt like Alistair was about to do the thing that Maric could not. He was going to pay back treachery with death. And use his father's sword to do it. What other reason could he have?

He saw Alistair's shoulders tense and Loghain could almost feel the blade against his skin. He could have retreated; the boy was moving so slowly he might have been made of stone, but he stood his ground. If the boy was going to murder him with Maric's sword, he was going to die on his feet like a man. Not running away like a coward. Loghain had never run from anything in his life. Well, except for that one time, horrified of a woman he happened to have fallen in love with, completely against his better judgement. _Kya._ The memory made his chest feel warm. At least he'd die with that moment as his last thought. It wasn't such a bad way to go, after all.

Loghain set his jaw as Alistair turned to face him. But instead of gripping the hilt, the blade lay prone across the King's palms, glittering faintly in the dying light.

"You recognize it, I'm sure," Alistair said, looking up from the blade to meet Loghain's glare.

He grunted. "Naturally," he replied. "I was there when he found it."

"I know," Alistair said. He made a face and ran a hand through the short spikes of his hair. "Look, after all that has happened, I think you owe me something."

Loghain frowned. "And what's that? What more could I possibly give for Ferelden except my life? Unless that is your intention here."

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Alistair scowled. "Are you always this paranoid?"

"Usually," Loghain snorted.

Alistair shook his head. "What I was trying to say . . . ," he sighed again. He was starting to sound like a bellows. But then his face became very serious; his eyes were flint. "We both know that the Calling is going to happen for you soon."

"Do we know that?" Loghain said. "Because I can't say that I do."

"Don't be _stupid_," Alistair snapped. Loghain was rightfully shocked at that. Perhaps the boy had a backbone after all.

"Fine," Loghain said. "Assuming you are right, and I have little time left, what does this have to do with you? Except perhaps to please you to know I will be dead?"

"It has nothing to do with _me_," Alistair explained. "But everything to do with this sword." Alistair grabbed the hilt and rolled the sword over. The blue runes etched across the blade _flashed._ "Because this sword isn't mine, and it doesn't belong here. It belongs right back where King Maric found it. In the Deep Roads."

"And?" Loghain said.

"And I don't expect I'll be going there for a long time, but you will, and we both know it," Alistair replied, quietly intense. "It doesn't belong to me. It shouldn't. I might be Maric's blood, but that's all. I didn't know him."

Loghain rubbed his temples. "You might think that, but as much as I hate to admit it, you are more like him than you know."

"That might be true, but this sword isn't mine," Alistair said. "That time is _over_, Loghain. The time when you and he were _heroes_ is over. This sword doesn't belong in Ferelden anymore."

"So you want me to take it back and leave it to rot in the Deep Roads instead of trying to live up to your father's example, is it?" Loghain snarled.

Alistair's knuckles went white gripping the hilt of the sword. His hand moved with more speed than Loghain realized him capable of, dropping the blade from his palm and swinging the sword in a wide arc. The King took a step back, his free hand flying up beneath the other to grab the hilt. The blade blazed white as it sped through the air and stopped just in time against the bare flesh of Loghain's neck.

"I should kill you," Alistair growled. "And no one would blame me for it." He snorted mirthlessly. "Except my wife, and your _Commander._"

Loghain was still. He didn't move and he held his tongue. The dragonbone felt cold and damp against his skin, and he could feel the blade tremble. He watched as a muscle twitched in Alistair's jaw.

Just as quickly as he'd moved before, Alistair pulled the sword away, letting it and his arm hang limply at his side.

"Just take it," he said, flipping his hand around and offering the sword to Loghain pommel first. "Even if you don't owe it to me, you owe it to Maric to do this."

Before Loghain could think of a suitable reply, Alistair stomped away, leaving Loghain holding Maric's blade. It suddenly occurred to him that in all the time Maric carried this blade, he'd never touched it before. Except once.

He held it the day he gave it to Cailan after Maric died.

Loghain stumbled back, suddenly uneasy on his feet. The ground seemed to tilt and shift under him. He backed into a pile of rubble and sat down hard. The steel of his armor clinked against the stone. He swallowed and blinked, trying to focus his eyes.

Taking a deep, shaking breath he slowly lifted the sword, balancing the blade gingerly against his palm. He watched in awe as the last of the sunlight glimmered on the flowing dwarven runes decorating the surface.

_Maric's blade._

The Deep Roads.

_Rowan._ And Cailan, with his mother's eyes.

It would all come full circle, it seemed. Loghain knew in the depths of his soul that Alistair was right. There would not be much time left, no matter what he did or how he fought it. He could feel the Taint thrumming in his veins already. And he did owe it to Maric, to return this blade back to the darkness where it was found.

And maybe, once it was done, all the bitterness and pain that they had wrought together would be over. They had saved Ferelden once; Maric and Rowan and himself. Together they'd fought and won against overwhelming odds. But the cost was so high. Maybe in the end, it had been too high. Ferelden was a bitch goddess, demanding blood offerings at every turn. It had cost more lives than Loghain could recall, more sacrifice, more horrors. But they had given her all she asked of them and more.

It cost them their souls.

"Loghain?" Kya's voice shocked Loghain to attention. His head snapped up and he dropped the sword unceremoniously into his lap.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry to form a word. She stalked towards him, her eyes flicking back and forth from the sword to his eyes.

"Is that?" she asked softly.

Loghain nodded dumbly. He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the sand in his mouth.

"I don't understand," she said, kneeing down in front of him. He looked down at her. She looked so young and yet her eyes were wise and old. Sometimes, he thought he knew her, but now she looked like a sad, beautiful stranger looking up at him with adoring eyes.

He didn't deserve those soft eyes. And he wished by the Maker that he didn't want them so much. But as she looked at him, thoughtfully silent, he wondered if this was his last true punishment. He loved her, and the taint screaming in his veins told him that he was going to have leave her, far sooner than was fair to either of them. Or to her at least.

But by Andraste, she was _strong_. And perhaps, finally, so was he. But no matter how strong he was, or how strong this thing between them had become, sooner than later, Loghain was going to have to do as the King had asked of him. He was going to have to pick up Maric's blade and take it back to the Deep Roads for one last taste of darkspawn blood before the stone and oblivion claimed them both.

He was going to have to sacrifice everything for Ferelden, the bitch.


	22. A Bitter Reminder of Regret

They left before the sun even crested the horizon. Kya rode next to Loghain, neither of them speaking. She tried on a few occasions to get him to speak, first trying serious but bland subjects like the training plans for the new recruits at Amaranthine, or tactical deployments should the darkspawn attack. Then she tried humor and even subtle innuendo. Nothing worked. It was like trying to get blood from a stone.

They rode hard instead of speaking, quickly putting distance between themselves and the realizations and horrors of Ostagar. Kya hoped they might make it to Lothering and a hot meal and a warm bath before the horses tired, but it wasn't to be. Eventually, her mare refused to put any more miles under her hooves at a reasonable speed, and no amount of prodding got her anywhere. It wasn't all that different from her earlier attempts to get Loghain to talk.

It was not her day, it seemed.

They came across a small farmhold, looking very run down and nearly abandoned, but smoke billowed from the chimney and the tantalizing scent of fresh bread and cooked apples wafted out mixed with the scent of the wood. Kya's stomach growled irritably. Giving Loghain a pointed look, she turned her horse into the yard and dismounted. She looked up at him, still in the saddle, staring at her like she had gone mad.

"Come on,' she said finally, breaking the hours long silence. "Farmholds like this are used to weary travelers. Besides, since you insisted we leave real armor and supplies behind with the others at Ostagar, I would prefer not to sleep out in the open."

He looked suitably annoyed but complied, swinging down from the saddle. A part of Kya wished he'd argue with her. At least they'd be talking. But whatever passed between Loghain and Alistair had done something to him. After she'd found him cradling Maric's sword, he'd said hardly more than two words in a row. She didn't know what happened, but she could recognize pain when she saw it.

Trying to ignore the giant lump in her throat, Kya reached up to knock on the door of the ramshackle hut, but the door opened just as her hand moved. She barely managed to not knock directly on the face of the old woman looking up at her. Kya wasn't tall, by any means, but this woman was stooped and round in the manner of the very old, her face resembling a wrinkled winter apple. But she smiled broadly, exposing a mouth nearly bereft of teeth. It was a warm smile, nonetheless.

"Come in, come in," the old woman said, gesturing Kya and Loghain inside. "You look half starved and exhausted the both of you. Old Mother Halmon will fix you right up."

Kya looked at Loghain over her shoulder, smiling faintly. Mother Halmon seemed like something out of an old story. But Kya couldn't decide if she was going to be a sweet godmother or a wicked witch. Loghain gave her a long suffering look, but nodded and followed her inside.

Mother Halmon clicked her tongue at them, putting her hands on her ample hips. "Young man," she said to Loghain, taking his arm. "Let me find you somewhere to rest while I attend to your beautiful companion, yes?"

Loghain snorted. "It's been some time since I've been called a young man."

"Yes, yes," Mother Halmon clucked. "But next to my old bones, you're just barely a man yet." Before he could protest, she dragged him off down the hall.

Kya shook her head, turning to warm her hands over the fire that crackled in the hearth. Bunches of dried herbs hung on the stone mantle, their faint scent filling the air. It was almost too good to be true. But at this point, Kya was so weary in her body and her heart, and if Mother Halmon was some demon witch, well, that was just fine. Hopefully, she'd feed her before she sacrificed them both in some bloody ritual.

_Maker's Breath._ Loghain's cynicism and paranoia were having more effect on her than she realized.

Mother Halmon waddled back toward Kya, looking her up and down. She seemed to be appraising her for market, or for match-making. Kya wasn't sure which was more unnerving.

"My, my," Mother Halmon said. "You are tense, dearie. A nice hot bath and a meal will do you wonders. I've set your man to rest, so let me help you get the dust out of you hair." She toddled down the hall again, waving to Kya to follow.

"I sincerely doubt he belongs to anyone, least of all me," Kya said to Mother Halmon's back. She made it a point to not use his name. Loghain might be a well-known by name, but in the stories he was ten feet tall and more handsome than any man ever to live, except for Maric of course. So the chances of an old farmer's widow recognizing him where slim. And Kya was in no mood for questions or accusations.

Mother Halmon laughed at Kya's words. "He belongs to you, tis clear as air," she replied. "Although he's not entirely sure he deserves it. Pood lad." Kya considered arguing the point, but she could recognize a lost battle when she saw one. She'd seen rather more than her share in the last year, at that.

So instead, she let Mother Halmon do with her as she wished. She stripped off Kya's robes, untwisted her hair and unceremoniously pushed her into a tub of steaming water. How exactly the water had gotten there, and been heated since they'd only arrived moments before Kya had no idea. But she was too tired to care. And once she sunk down into the fragrant water, it mattered even less. Mother Halmon chirped about the weather and about the flowers coming up as she untangled the snarls in Kya's hair, soaping her as if she was a child and not a grown woman. Kya discovered she didn't mind at all.

Once she'd finished, Mother Halmon stepped back and cocked her head at Kya as if to assess her work. Apparently satisfied by what she saw, she nodded twice and turned to go, scooping up Kya's robes under her arm as she went.

"There's linens on the table and clothes in the bureau," she said as she closed the door, leaving Kya soaking.

Kya closed her eyes and rested her head against the wooden rim of the tub. A part of her, a rather large part, wanted to just stay in the water until her fingers pruned and the water cooled. Instead, she shook her head and stood, letting the water sluice down her body. She stepped out the tub and wrapped the linens around herself, shivering. Whether it was from the cold or the bitter pit in her stomach, she wasn't sure.

She couldn't stop thinking about the silence of the day. Not that she wasn't used to Loghain lapsing into sullen silence from time to time. He was who he was, and it was part of his charm; she thought so anyway. But this was different. There was something about seeing that dragonbone sword in its scabbard, swinging from Loghain's saddle that gave Kya an ache of finality.

_What was it they said? When you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes?_ Loghain's life seemed to be all wrapped up in leather and crafted in the finest dwarven fashion. If that sword was anything other than a bitter reminder of regret, Kya would become a Chantry sister.

She stared out the tiny window. There was what looked like a garden back there, but it was barren and blackened. It occurred to her that all of this land had been in the Blighted area. How exactly one old woman had survived the darkspawn on her own was beyond her. Mother Halmon didn't seem like the kind of woman that would have fled her home, not even if the army had tried to move her bodily. If she thought about it too much . . . there was something very wrong about all of this.

But then her stomach protested again, loudly. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she scavenged a dress from the bureau. It was a worn thing, more spots rubbed bare than were whole. But it was a lovely shade of blue, and soft as a petal. Kya slipped it over her head, ignoring how it seemed to fit perfectly. Leaving her hair loose around her shoulders, she shuffled bare footed back towards the warmth of the fire.

Mother Halmon already had a bowl of stew in her hand by the time Kya ambled down the hall. She hoped Loghain would be there, but he was conspicuously absent. Kya tried to hide her disappointment as she took the bowl and settled into one of the well worn chairs by the fire, tucking her legs up underneath her. She took a bite, and decided it was the best thing she'd ever tasted, yet at the same time it was like ash in her mouth.

"Your lad is a grumpy one, isn't he?" Mother Halmon commented. "I tried to feed him, but he was having none of it. Did manage to send him to the tub, although he tried to fight that as well. Said something about watching me, he did."

Kya shook her head. "Yes, he is at that," she replied, taking another bite. "Don't take it personally."

The old woman laughed. "I'm too old to take anything personal-like dearie. I learned better a long time ago."

Kya leaned back in the chair, setting the bowl aside, still half full. Her stomach was too full of apprehension to make room for much food. Mother Halmon frowned at her, but said nothing. Eventually she made her way to the other chair, sitting down slowly. She looked at Kya pointedly, staring nearly. She was silent, but Kya could almost see the questions forming behind the old woman's milky grey eyes.

"You're her, aren't you?" Mother Halmon asked finally. Kya's heart dropped into her feet.

"Her who?" she replied, trying to feign ignorance.

"Don't be coy with me young lady," Mother Halmon scolded. "You know exactly what I mean. You _are_ her, The Grey Warden. The Hero of Ferelden."

Kya cringed. "Denial isn't going to work here, is it?"

"Not with me. I've lived too long not to spot a lie," Mother Halmon continued. "And if you are the Warden, that makes your bitter lad Loghain Mac Tir." She gave Kya a toothless grin. "Which explains a lot."

"And what's that exactly, witch?" Loghain's deep voice said from the shadows. Kya snapped her head around. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. His hair was damp and unbraided, hanging in loose locks around his face. Not surprisingly, he was scowling.

"I suppose it is no surprise then, Loghain," Mother Halmon said, her voice losing some of it's ancient rasp. "That I know of the prophecy you were told as a young man then, is it?"

Loghain snorted. "Hardly."

"So then," she continued. "Would you like some advice?"

"From a witch?" he snapped. "Not likely."

"Ah, but you travel with one, not so different from I," Mother Halmon replied. She steepled her fingers under her chin. "Do you know why it is only women who are true witches? Why a male mage cannot hear the portents?"

"I expect you are going to enlighten me whether I care to hear this or not," Loghain said. His frown deepened, the line between his brows cast in shadow.

Kya watched them, shocked by how unsurprised she was by it all. Loghain told her, a bit, of his encounter with the witch in the Korcari wilds. That witch had used fear and blatant expressions of power to frighten them into listening. This woman used Flemeth's tactics.

"Prophecy comes from the fade dear boy," Mother Halmon said. "And only women can listen well enough to hear it. Men . . . men are too caught up in what happens outside themselves to ever truly hear the inner voice of the fade. And they do not look closely enough inside to understand why they do what they do."

"Is that your wisdom old woman?" Loghain spat. "Any traveling charlatan could do as well."

"Perhaps," she said. "Or perhaps not. But wise or not, I do know this. Your entire life has been shaped by your destiny to betray Maric. Even perhaps that love that crushed your spirit, perhaps that was only another part of it. Did you truly love Rowan or was her flesh just another way to betray _him_?"

Loghain didn't reply. His eyes narrowed.

"No matter what the truth of that is, now your part in destiny is done Loghain Mac Tir," she said. Her voice took on an eerie quality. "What happens now, is entirely up to you. Take care that you do not make the same mistakes again, with the little time you have left. Make sure that if you _love_ it is not out of spite and pride. You know of what I speak, do you not?"

Kya opened her mouth to speak, but Mother Halmon silenced her with a blistering look and a wave of her hand.

"Let me finish lass," she said. "Besides, I have no intention of answering the question on your tongue. Am I Flemeth? Am I something else? Who can say?" She chuckled. "And no, I have nothing for you either dearie. What is in your future has yet to be written. You will have to learn as you go." She turned her eyes back to Loghain and stood slowly, bracing herself on the arms of the chair like the old woman she appeared to be.

"And you," she said, taking a few steps forward and looking back over her shoulder at Kya. "Did you know that your hero was nearly not one? Did he tell you that he nearly ran away from his own destiny and from his King?"

Kya frowned at her, flicking her eyes back to Loghain. He was staring at Mother Halmon and although it seemed he knew she was looking, he refused to meet her eyes.

"His lady love, Rowan, she was the dutiful sort. She rejected him, and broke his heart," Mother Halmon explained. "Though he would never admit it, he was leaving because of her. In the dead of night, he tried to slink away. If Maric had not found him, he would have been gone. And perhaps Ferelden would not be free. It is hard to say." She took a few more steps the pushed a bony finger into Loghain's breastbone, right above his folded arms.

"But Maric is gone now, for good or ill," she continued. "So now that his sword and your guilt are strapped together on your belt, what will make you keep yourself this time? Or will you do as your nature compels you and disappear where duty and dishonor cannot find you?"

Loghain took a stumbling step back as if the old woman had slapped him. Kya expected a harsh, sarcastic reply, but Loghain was silent as stone. His arms hung limp at his sides.

"Ah, hit a nerve did I?" Mother Halmon purred. She turned back to look at Kya, just shaking her head. "Either way, it will be a fate of your own making. For you both. Tonight however, is for sleep. The fade awaits. And when you wake . . . Maker only knows where your path will lead you. It is enough for me to know that you will not cross mine again."

Kya tried to stand, but found she was riveted in place. Just like in the Circle tower, when the Sloth demon trapped her in the fade, she felt herself unable to resist the urge to sleep. Her eyes slid closed just as she saw Loghain slump to the floor.

* * *

Kya woke under the open sky. The farmhold, the house, Mother Halmon; they were all gone as insubstantial as smoke. Kya raised her head, feeling the weight of her hair braided against her back. She was in her own robes again, but they were pristine and clean. She tugged at the length of her braid. The thick hair was still damp inside. Not a dream then, but what?

Kya stood slowly, brushing imaginary wrinkles from her robes. She looked around. Her horse was grazing peacefully, nipping at tiny shoots of new grass peeking up through blackened earth. A sudden, frantic realization gripped Kya's chest in an iron fist. She turned around, looking in each direction and was met with only silence.

Loghain was gone.

Kya's heart thudded in her chest, her mind replaying Mother Halmon's words.

_Make sure that if you love it is not out of spite and pride. So now that his sword and your guilt are strapped together on your belt, what will make you keep yourself this time? Or will you do as your nature compels you and disappear where duty and dishonor cannot find you?_

It took all the self control Kya had not to scream. Instead, she padded over to her horse, patting it softly on her flank. The mare looked up at her with sad brown eyes, then went back to her grazing. Kya looked inside her saddle bags and found that they were well stocked, although they had been nearly empty when they'd fled Ostagar. On the top of the supplies, there was a single red apple, despite being the completely wrong time of year for them.

Kya pulled it out, and rolled it back and forth across her palms. The surface was unnaturally glossy and she could see the faint reflection of her pale face in the red luster. It was like looking at herself through a pane of bloody glass. Kya looked up again, her eyes scanning the horizon in every direction. But still, there was nothing.

Sighing, she took a bite of the apple. It was perfectly ripe and sweet, and a little droplet of juice ran down her chin. She wiped it away with her sleeve.

She wished desperately that there was something left to do here. Something that would logically keep her from moving or leaving. Supplies to gather, or a camp to strike, anything that might give her a reason to stay a while. But there was none. No more than there was any reason for Loghain to have gone off ahead, and yet still intend to return.

Despite all his protestation, all his pleading for her to be his, he'd disappeared into the night like some sort of spirit in a nightmare. He'd asked her if she was his. Kya hadn't lied to him before, and she hadn't lied then.

She was his. Completely. And now he was gone.

The apple dropped out of her hand, rolling away through the dust. If only she could be angry. Anger she understood. When Jowan lied to her, betrayed her trust and escaped the tower, her anger had kept her from falling apart when she traveled to Ostagar with Duncan. When Alistair turned his back on her, it was her rage that kept her moving.

There was no anger to spur her on now. Only a sharp, cold pain behind her ribs. She took a deep breath and took the mare's reins, pulling her head up from browsing. The horse looked mildly irritated at her, but complied. Kya put her foot in the stirrup, swinging herself up into the saddle.

"_Your foot here. Take the pommel in your hand, and jump.__**" **_ Loghain's remembered voice echoed in Kya's head. It seemed like that happened in another life.

Kya sat up straight in the saddle and swallowed before nudging the mare forward with her heels. She might not be able to muster up anger, but Maker damn her, she sure as the Black City was not going to cry.


	23. Look Closely Enough

"_Men are too caught up in what happens outside themselves to ever truly hear the inner voice of the fade. And they do not look closely enough inside to understand why they do what they do."_

No matter how he tried, Loghain could not get the voice of the witch out of his head. He'd left Kya laying peacefully asleep, so beautiful it nearly tore him apart to leave her there without a word. But he had nonetheless, and had rode hard, like a demon was on his heels, hoping to outrun the voice in his head. The voice that kept telling him that he'd lived a life that was little more than a long and bitter lie.

All Loghain wanted was peace. He might rail against the notion in words and deed, but if he let his guard down for only a moment, he knew wanted to be at peace and live a simple, quiet life. A unimportant existence that had been torn out of his hands before he'd even been old enough to know how much he wanted it.

The day those Orlesian bastards took his mother's honor, and her life.

From that moment on, he'd lived only for vengeance and anger and hatred. Now fate had dropped a moment of peace in his lap, and he ran from it like a coward. Very much like the coward he always feared he was, under all the bluster and vanity.

The bridge to Lothering appeared suddenly, tearing him out of his own head abruptly back into the reality. He yanked the reins sharply, trying to halt the lathered horse. The beast's hooves slipped against the smooth worn stone and they skidded to a stop, Loghain wrenching forward in the saddle and swinging down to the ground in one seamless motion. Leaving the horse standing idle, he stalked down the ramp towards the ruin of the village.

It wasn't really accurate to call it a village now. Graveyard was more apt.

Despite the months that had passed since the Blight ended, not a living thing stirred in the wreckage. Even the crows had moved on, finding all the bodies long since picked clean. Loghain remembered Lothering well; it was the first stop his army made after Ostagar. The chantry loomed in the distance, just a moldering shell. Ignoring the horror of the scene, he picked his way through the scattered bones and blackened earth.

He reached the steps of the chantry, or what had once been the chantry, and fell hard on to his knees on the stone steps. He bowed his head, letting his hair veil his face from the grey light seeping through the clouds.

In another lifetime, he'd stood on these self same steps and declared the Grey Wardens traitors to Ferelden and put a bounty on the head of the beautiful woman he'd left sleeping on the side of the road just hours before. A woman, Maker damn him, but a woman that he loved, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. _But how dare he?_

Perhaps she could forgive the assassin, Zevran, for his part. But he'd been tasked to the deed by Loghain. But could forgiveness really come so easily to woman with such a pragmatic soul? He doubted it very much. And so what was this thing that he was running away from, but just another lie; another delusion of vanity.

Loghain leaned forward, resting his hot forehead against the stone. This pain was all too familiar. But now there was nothing more to be done, no task to set his mind to, to tear him away from his melancholy. He was just a foolish child; a child who'd become an adult so young on the outside and yet where it mattered, had never left that tiny room where his mother died. The room where she screamed and ranted to the Maker to save her. The room where the Maker kept his face turned away.

The Maker let the world punish her, and die. And yet his crimes . . . what crime had his mother ever committed except birthing him? Crime indeed, considering the havoc he'd wrecked upon Ferelden and almost upon the woman he loved.

_Love. What did he know about love?_

And that damn voice, and those supposedly wise words, haunting him like the old woman was still there. As if she was standing right beside him, with the smug self serving look on her face. That all knowing look that he recalled from Maric's face when he returned from the Deep Roads. That might have been when he started to hate him, mixed with the adoration. Maric had the only thing Loghain had ever wanted for himself, and it wasn't the throne. Maric had Rowan's love and he took it for granted until it was gone.

To the Black City with power; he'd never wanted it. All he wanted was love, as trite and foolish as it sounded. But what man truly wanted anything else, when he was honest with himself? Yet when it had shown its face, he'd turned away. And he was doing it again.

"_And they do not look closely enough inside to understand why they do what they do."_

Loghain sat back on his heels, staring up at the remaining framework of the building, focusing his eyes on the round frame that once held rose colored glass. He blinked, remembering the way those windows always made the light inside a chantry red tinted. Like blood.

Clenching his hand into a ball, he drove his fist hard into the stone stairs. Then again, until the skin on his knuckles split. He reared his hand back, and hit the stone with full force, the wet sound of his flesh breaking against the rock the only sound in the unnatural stillness. He left his hand throbbing against the stone, dust and grime working its way under his skin, a smear of his blood looking wet against the dull, grey surface.

He had been baptized in blood and now his hands were forever stained with it. Not even the Maker could forgive him now.

* * *

She approached so quietly, so tentatively that Loghain hadn't even realized she was there until he felt the gentle touch of her hand against his face.

He'd somehow fallen asleep, curled against the stone. He had no idea how long he'd laid there, drowning in and choking on his own bitterness until sleep overtook him. But the sun was high up into the sky now, still pale through the thinning clouds. His neck ached and his eyes blurred as he blinked, trying to focus.

At first, he though she was a dream, backlit by the bright sun. Her hair was a copper halo around her shadowed face, tendrils curving along her cheeks and her neck. Like some sweet fade spirit come to take him. But his eyes focused eventually, and there was no denying it. It was Kya, kneeling beside him.

A wild surge of emotion welled up, but he swallowed it back.

"Why?" she said, softly as if she didn't trust her own voice. There were a thousand questions in that one word, and not a single one he had any answer for. Or perhaps he did, if he split himself down the middle and let his heart leap out of his chest on to the ground.

"I would not blame you," Loghain managed, surprised by how gruff his own voice sounded. "If you ended my life right now. I think perhaps I might even thank you."

"What?" she blurted out, staggering back as if struck. Her mouth dropped open. "What would possess you to think that I would want that?"

"How could you truly desire anything else?" he asked.

"_And they do not look closely enough inside to understand why they do what they do." _Those words again.

"Tell me, truly," he continued, "If I was any other man who'd done to you what I have, would I be still in this world? Or would I rightfully be dead by your hand, or the hands of those that once followed you?"

"I can't answer that," she said, sounded exasperated. "Because you _aren't_ any other man."

"Perhaps not," he replied, pulling himself up, and his walls with them. "But you cannot deny the truth."

Kya gritted her teeth. "And exactly what truth is that?" She shook her head. "What is it that you want to hear? Do you want me to lie to you and tell you that you deserve to be dead? Because by Andraste's ass, I swear Loghain, you aren't going to get what you want."

Loghain looked away. She was young; she had known pain for certain, but it hadn't yet had time to build itself into the festering canker that his had. He hoped she'd never understand at that. Before he could reply, she shot forward and her hands came up on either side of his face, wrenching him to look at her.

"Loghain," she said. "I can't even guess what you are thinking. I expect its so far removed from reality that I can't even _begin_ to understand it. But whatever it is, it doesn't change anything. At least not from here." Kya paused, blinking furiously. "The real question is, has it changed for you? Because if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me, then I'll leave you here and I won't be back."

"I . . . ," Loghain began, but couldn't finish. His heart was in his throat, and he tried to tell her. Tried to give her the escape she deserved but he choked on the words before they reached his lips. "I can't . . . I can't tell you that," he said. "I'm tired of lies. I'm just tired of everything."

"Then stop fighting," Kya sighed. "Just stop."

"How?" he asked. "All I know is fighting and war. Without them, I don't know who I am."

"You'll be just a man," she said. "Just like you've always been."

And maybe she was right. Kya had shown remarkable wisdom, in everything she'd done since he'd met her. She was the heart of what it meant to be a Grey Warden, doing whatever it took. She was a Grey Warden long before she took her joining, he expected. She did what had to be done to do what was right. Along the way, perhaps those with less clear vision might have seen evil, but Loghain knew better.

"I wish it was so easy," he said finally. "To let it all go. To forgive. How do you do it?"

"Forgive?" she said questioningly. "I don't know how to forgive. I only know that I have to accept. There's no other way. If I can't accept what _is_ then I can't live."

"I don't know if I can," Loghain admitted. "There are so many years of . . . ."

She cut him off. "Lost years," she said. "Don't waste the few you have left. Because soon enough, either death or duty is going to rear its head and tear us apart. I can't imagine it could ever be otherwise. We're Grey Wardens, Loghain. It trumps everything else, even love." She swallowed, sliding one hand back to tangle into his hair and sliding closer. "But we have a moment now. Maybe just this one last moment. Please, by the Maker, don't waste any more time."

Something broke inside him.

Some wall, some dam he hadn't even realized was there was rent asunder in a torrent. Like the heavens breaking open before a storm, he leapt forward and crushed her against him. His lips found hers, and it was like shelter, like home, like _peace at last._

Whatever else had come before, all the horror and the pain and everything, it dissolved into nothing. Loghain realized he was crying, as she was. The salt of their tears mingled together, sweet on his lips. It was sweeter than any moment he'd known before, and perhaps would ever know again.

And whatever happened next, whatever duty awaited them, none of it mattered. The steel cage that had trapped his heart since he was a child was shattered. That room in his mind, it burned into ashes and dust and nothing.

He laid her down against the steps, in the boneyard of Lothering, not caring about the dust and the old death, not caring about forgiveness and hatred, and finally not cloaked in the shadow of Maric and Rowan and Orlais, and made love to the woman that finally healed his soul.

_Peace. Peace at last._


	24. Shine Love

_I gaze into the frozen distance_  
_I hear the echoes of my tears_  
_Holding pieces of_  
_Those wasted years_

_I know there's something better waiting_  
_I just can't see which way to go_  
_Fighting shadows only makes them grow_

_Shine love_  
_Lead me through this_  
_Darkness in my soul_  
_Shine love, comfort me_  
_Give me some sign that_  
_I'm not alone_  
_Shine love_

_I feel part of a greater wholeness_  
_The fire that feeds me is the sun_  
_In the end everything is one_

_Shine love_  
_Lead me through this_  
_Darkness in my soul_  
_Shine love, comfort me_  
_Give me some sign that_  
_I'm not alone_  
_Shine love_

_SHINE LOVE ~Laura Powers_

* * *

Perhaps it was irresponsible of them, by Kya didn't care. Instead of staying on the Imperial Highway towards Denerim, they veered north instead, into the Bannorn. Although it was still early spring, and the Blight had ravaged much of the land, life was returning.

Here in the countryside, the farmers had returned to their plots, and were busy plowing and planting. They refused to let the horrors of the past year stop life from continuing. What was even better, was that here, no one knew who they were. Certainly these simple folk knew about the Hero of Ferelden, and knew about Loghain Mac Tir, but wouldn't recognize them from Andraste herself. These weren't the sort of people that visited court and knew the faces to go along with the legends.

All these people saw were a man and woman, walking and leading a pair of horses slowly through the farmland. A young woman with a child smiled at them; the older man behind her winked at the two of them, giving Loghain a knowing nod. To this man, Loghain was a just a lucky bastard with a young woman at his side. Kya figured they had that exactly right.

_Finally._

Whatever else was to happen, these days were sure to be the sort that became branded into her memory. She hoped that someday, when the Calling came for her, and she was in a bloody heap somewhere in the Deep Roads, she'd remember this feeling. This unexplainable rightness of walking silently, one hand tangled in the reins and the other hidden in Loghain's. The gentle warmth of his skin, the smell of spring air and horseflesh and leather, and that just barely there tang of sweat that she knew belonged only to him. It was the sort of scent that could sweep in under the pungent smell of death and the taint and give her just one sweet moment of happiness in that darkness she knew was to come.

Kya turned her head to look at Loghain and discovered him staring, smiling faintly in that nearly smug way of his.

"What is it?" she asked, running her thumb along the side of his hand. He squeezed her fingers in response.

"Nothing really," he said, still with that same sardonic half smile. "Just considering the inexplicable workings of fate."

"Well," Kya smiled. "That's rather a deep thought for so early in the day."

Loghain chuckled. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. I am notorious for over-thinking."

"So have you a conclusion to your pondering?" she asked.

"Not as of yet," he said. "Nor do I expect to. I am just trying to take the advice a wise and beautiful woman gave me once."

Kya frowned a little at that. "And that would be?"

"Acceptance," he said, stopping and turning to face her. He dropped the reins, putting his hand softly on her cheek. "Because quite honestly, I don't think I've felt this free in thirty years."

All Kya could do was blink at him. Suddenly her _hero_ was complimenting the wisdom of a half mad blood mage? Thedas was beyond belief, clearly.

"Is that so?" she asked, leaning in a bit, trying to hide her shock.

"More than you could possibly realize," he said and kissed her forehead. "It never occurred to me that I could stop hating, without forgiving. But here it is. And I am thankful for it." He paused, kissing her forehead again and then her eyelids. First one and then the other with his breath warm and tickling her lashes. "And I'm thankful for _you._"

Kya made a sound, something like a sob and a laugh, all at once. Her eyes felt hot. "I'm not sure I can handle this level of adoration."

Loghain laughed. "Should you prefer it, I can return to sarcasm at any time." Humor still glinting in his blue eyes, he stepped back and gave a little bow. "My lady."

"Maker's breath," Kya laughed, slapping his shoulder. "You are completely mad, Loghain Mac Tir."

"Indeed," he said, straightening and taking the reins again. They took a few more steps, both still chuckling under their breath. And then, quieter, he spoke again.

"Madly in love with you, anyway," he said.

And somehow, with the sun blazing as it was already, the sunlight was just that much brighter still.

* * *

And then it was raining. That torrential downpour type, where no matter what was done, clothes were soaked through in moments and it wasn't even worth the effort to try to find shelter. And they were laughing again, like deranged children, running about looking for somewhere to get out of the mess.

Mud squelching under her boots, Kya led the way, weaving through the sparse trees. Luckily, Ferelden was rough terrain and rocky, and they found an outcropping of stone, partially shielded from the wind. Leaving the horses to their own devices, both seemingly unperturbed by the rain, Loghain and Kya scurried underneath, wrapping arms around each other with water from their hair splashing wildly in every direction. A drop of rainwater slid down the slope of Loghain's nose and splattered onto Kya's upturned face.

"Not to ruin the moment," Loghain said, wiping away the drop, although it was hard to tell where it had fallen against her already soaked skin. "But we should probably try to light a fire and dry off, before we freeze to death when the sun goes down."

Kya smiled. "Always so practical. You make me proud."

"Yes, I suppose I am," he said, stepping out of the circle of her arms and looking around for something dry to burn. Kya leaned back against the stone and watched him with amusement as he gathered what little he could from the sheltered cove, making a sad pile of sticks and then attempting to start them alight with soggy flint.

Naturally, it wasn't going well, and he swore under his breath a few times before sitting down next to the distinctly not burning pile of wood and twigs. Kya did her best not to snicker, but failed and she snorted in a completely unladylike fashion. Loghain looked up at her irritably.

"I'm sure it's very entertaining, but I doubt you'll feel the same when the Hero of Ferelden is shivering in wet clothes," he said.

Shaking her head, Kya crouched down behind him and conjured a flicker of fire from her fingertips, easily setting the wood ablaze, soggy or not. The logs could have been soaked completely; it didn't matter when the fire was mage lit.

"You were saying?" she smirked, looking at him from across the flames.

"And you chose to watch my ineptitude because?" Loghain sneered, although there was a touch of humor behind it.

Kya shrugged. "I felt I needed to give you the chance to continue to be my hero," she grinned at him. "It's the thought that counts."

Loghain shook his head. "Of course, how foolish of me." Kya could tell he was trying very hard to look annoyed, but it wasn't completely successful. He leaned back, and started to untie the thread at the ends of his braids. Grinning, Kya made her way to him, kneeling down in front of him, taking the hair out of his fumbling fingers.

"Here," she said, " Let me."

Loghain gave her a sad, wistful smile. "This is familiar."

"It is," Kya said, slowly unraveling the strands of hair. "I am still not completely sure what possessed me to do that; that day by the lake."

"I'm glad you did," he said. "Although at the time, I was mightily confused by it."

"I . . . I think I just wanted to touch you," Kya admitted. "To make sure you were real." She finished with the first braid and moved on to the next, her fingers moving slowly. She relished the silky feeling of his damp hair again her fingertips.

"Am I?" he asked, grinning.

"I'm still not completely sure," she said, the last of the braid falling away under her fingers. "Honestly, sometimes I expect that I'm just going to wake up back in the tower, and it will all have been a long, twisted dream."

"I've considered that myself," Loghain said, reaching up and twisting a damp lock of Kya's hair around his finger. "Because I can't imagine a real world where a beautiful young woman would be here with an old man."

"Old man?" Kya snickered, running her fingers through his hair before leaning over and tucking her head under his chin. "Hardly."

Loghain chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against Kya's ear like distant thunder. It was a comforting feeling, the vibration of the sound and the slow, steadying beating of his heart against her cheek. She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arm about his waist.

"Well, perhaps its delusion, or vanity," he said. "But when you say that, I almost believe it."

"Almost?" Kya said, lifting her head to look at him with a mischievous look in her eyes. "What do I have to do to convince you?"

Loghain laughed again. That was a sound Kya could most definitely get used to. When she had first met him, she wasn't even sure he was capable of such a thing. If she'd asked him, he might have agreed. But now it seemed so natural, like perhaps a part of him had been missing before, and now he was whole again. A terribly vain part of herself hoped that she was at least one reason for it, but she knew that whatever had happened inside his soul was of his doing. He might even think she'd had a part in it, if she asked. But Kya knew better. There was no convincing Loghain of anything. If he decided to accept what was, then he'd done it on his own.

She looked at him carefully, memorizing the sharp planes of his face, the long sweep of his eyelashes, the arrogant cant of his eyebrows. The dark circles that he'd worn beneath his eyes for so long were gone, and his skin, usually so pale and wan was flushed slightly. Kya realized she was staring. In response, Loghain was just smiling faintly, his eyes moving slowly as if he was doing just as she was. Burning this moment into their memories, the both of them.

"I have an idea," Loghain replied finally, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear, simultaneously pulling her closer.

"Oh?" Kya said, feigning coy. "Whatever could you mean, ser?"

He smirked. He appreciated this game as much as she did. "Shall I demonstrate?"

In response, Kya lowered her lashes and managed a maidenly blush. It was beyond ridiculous, considering. But it gave her a thrill nonetheless. She let him move her forward, as if she had no will of her own, until she was firmly in his lap with her legs curled around him and her soaking wet robes hitched up around her waist in a complete un-maidenly fashion.

Instead of the sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue, Kya leaned in and kissed him. Both of them already talked entirely too much as it was. And if that wasn't ironic, she didn't know what was.

* * *

When the sun finally crept up in the morning and the fire burned down to nothing but ashes, Kya was thrilled to discovered that she was unexpectedly warm and comfortable. She was curled in the crook of Loghain's arm, her face cradled against the bare skin of his chest. He was awake already, tenderly twisting her hair around his fingers and watching her sleep.

The calm, satisfied look on his face nearly took her breath away. He was happy. And by the Maker, if she had anything to do with it, she could die right now and be a happy woman. Kya tilted her face up to look at him and he rewarded her with a smile, teeth and all.

"Good morning," he said quietly. "How was the fade?"

"Uneventful," Kya replied. "Thankfully. But even if it hadn't been, I think I'd be over it now."

Loghain smiled again and with her hair still woven through his fingers he set his hand softly on the side of her face.

"Glad to be of service," he said. "For whatever I can do."

Kya stretched a bit, then settled back against him. "For now, this is all I need."

"Then I'm successful, it seems," he said. His voice changed a bit and he tensed almost imperceptibly. "But I fear I do have to ruin the moment."

Kya sighed. "It figures."

He laughed at that. "Yes, some things are inevitable. Like Denerim."

"Oh Maker," Kya groaned. "We do have to go, don't we?"

"They are going to declare us dead if we don't show up soon," Loghain said. "And as much as that is not a completely unappealing prospect, you know we can't."

Kya burrowed her face into his shoulder. "Andraste's ass," she said, muffled by his skin. "Never ending duty."

"I wish it didn't have to be," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "But you know neither of us can resist it. Even if we tried."

"I know," she sighed. "You're right. You always are."

"Not always," he said, echoing her sigh. "But this time I am."

Reluctantly, Kya sat up but instead of being appropriately dutiful, she slung a leg over him and straddled him, pinning him down with the heels of her hands. He gave her a wry look, perhaps even mildly annoyed, but she wriggled herself against him and instead of a practical and responsible reply, he closed his eyes.

"Perhaps a bit of a delay is acceptable?" Kya asked lasciviously.

Loghain's tongue flicked out over his lips and he looked up at her with one squinting eye.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he said.

"Not at all," Kya laughed. "Just trying to see if the famous Grey Warden stamina is working."


	25. Promises

Kya was pacing again. If Loghain had learned nothing else in the last few months, it was that when Kya Amell, now Warden Commander of the Grey and vaunted _Hero of Ferelden_ started to pace, then things were going to go downhill. Soon. And Loghain was all out of brilliant distractions.

They'd spent the last week, or had it been two, of their journey towards Denerim through the gently greening hills of Bannorn in some sort of strange trance. They didn't argue, only smiled. They professed love and made love at every opportunity. But the entire time had felt fragile, like glass blown too thin. Loghain knew that they had both spent much time swallowing ego and biting back stubborn remarks. Eventually their true selves were bound to reassert themselves, and rather viciously he expected.

All this waiting was about to be the last straw that broke the haycart. Of that, he was completely certain.

He knew this dance of course. How many hours had he sat waiting? Even Maric loved to leave him to stew in his own juices, especially when he knew it would exhaust him to the point that whatever argument he'd come stomping in with would have fizzled before it even began. Somehow Maric still usually gave in to whatever Loghain suggested, but sometimes he imagined that his old friend got a thrill out of frustrating him until he was spent.

Apparently it was right in the blood, because Maric's boys were no different, not even this one raised entirely without his influence. Right in the blood indeed.

But Maric's bastard son hadn't learned something that Loghain had, it seemed. Loghain had only been in Kya's company for months. Alistair had shared her camp, and her bed, for nearly a year. Yet the boy hadn't learned that she was not one to be put off. Unlike Loghain, and most men, who's tempers would flare and fade quickly if left to their own devices, Kya's fire burned hotter if left too long. This boy King was about to get seriously singed, if he left them waiting much longer.

Luckily for Alistair, and himself, Loghain thought, the door swung open. Kya's furious pacing stopped short and she spun on her heel. She had feverish looking eyes and those bright spots of color high up on her cheeks that she always got when she was angry. Loghain thought she was rather fetching in her fury. He resisted the urge to grin.

Then, he saw the smug look on Alistair's face, and whatever humor he had fled. If he'd took the time to consider it, he would have realized how odd it was for the King to come to them alone. As it was, he was riveted to the expression on his unpleasantly familiar Theirin features.

"Warden Commander Kya," Alistair said first, breaking the thick tension that had rose up the moment the door opened. "Loghain." He nodded curtly in begrudging greeting.

"Your Majesty," Kya replied, crossing her arms across her chest and offering him a half bow. Her words were distinctly venomous.

"I am glad you are here," Alistair continued. "There are messages for you here, from Weisshaupt."

"Oh?" Kya replied. The nonchalance of her tone made Loghain proud.

"Yes," Alistair replied smugly. "Orders for Loghain, in fact."

"Do you intend to share or simply stand there looking like the cat that ate the . . . ," she paused for a moment, and a little smirk slid into her expression. "Pigeon?"

Alistair's ears flushed a bit at that. Loghain had no idea what that was about, but he expected it was best that he didn't think about it. Clearly, he was about to have enough problems without adding jealousy for a thing that was dead into it.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Yes, I will," he said. His voice lowered. "But I do expect this will be more _bitter_ coming from my mouth. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with it. When I walked away from the Grey Wardens, I meant it. I reminded the messenger quite vividly of that when he tried to press the issue."

He took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. It made a soft snick as the wood slid into the frame. Alistair turned back to them slowly and leaned back against the door. He gestured to Kya with a twist of his head.

"Sit," he said. Loghain almost expected her to balk at that, but she said nothing. She settled down onto to bench beside him, blatantly putting her hand on his leg just above his knee. If Alistair noticed, he didn't mention it.

"The orders from Weisshaupt are quite clear. And final," Alistair said finally. "Loghain is to report to the Grey Wardens . . . in Montsimmard. In Orlais."

Loghain saw Kya's mouth drop open out of the corner of his eye. His own teeth clenched and he could feel the muscle in the crook of his jaw twitch.

"Why?" Kya managed finally.

"They say they are concerned that he will interfere in Ferelden politics. They feel that the Wardens of Ferelden are already far too tied up in things as it is." Alistair said bluntly. "And I happen to agree."

"Is that so, your Majesty?" she spat at him. "That's a funny thing, coming from you. Considering."

"I'm sure it is," he said. His face softened. "Look, are you actually surprised by this? You should be glad they didn't try to reassign you as well. I imagine the only reason they did not is because you are the one who led the defeat of the Archdemon. You will attract what they need."

"I suppose I will at that," Kya sighed, resigned. Her fingers tightened where they sat on Loghain's leg. "Being the _hero_ that I am, I'm sure."

Loghain almost expected him to make some comment, some snide remark at Loghain's expense when Alistair eventually turned his eyes to him. Instead, the bastard King just stared at him, and swallowed. There was still a great deal of anger in that look, but perhaps a bit of pity was creeping in at the edges. But surprisingly, that compassion didn't send bolts of aggravation through him.

In those eyes that were all the wrong color, Loghain saw a little piece of Maric looking at him.

"I'll, ah . . . leave you two to speak in private," Alistair said. "But there are other things I will need to discuss with Loghain, before . . . ." His voice trailed off. "Things left from your regency still need to be dealt with. And I am sure Anora has words for you as well."

With that, Alistair nodded and stood away from the door, opening it and slipping out in one fluid motion. Not a regal exit, that. More of a grateful disappearing act. Really a Maric action if he'd ever seen one. It was a bit unnerving.

Then they were alone, sitting in sullen silence, Kya's fingers still flexing against his leg. She was staring at the closed door woodenly.

And here it was at last. This thing that they had both spoken of, but he knew at least on his part, had hoped would not happen. Duty was calling now. But he knew he couldn't deny what was now in his blood; he still wasn't sure how Alistair was managing it. The taint was part of him now. He was a Grey Warden and for better or worse, there was no turning himself away from it.

Loghain Mac Tir had been a creature of duty since the day his father stole him away into the night after ending the lives of a half dozen Orlesian officers. He was who he was, and he was far too old to change now. If the Senior Warden at Weisshaupt said he was to go to Montsimmard, then there he would go until the Calling drove him underground and to his end. Just as Kya said, in that accidental wisdom of hers; _We're Grey Wardens, Loghain. It trumps everything else, even love. _And so it did.

He thought that darkspawn blood was the last poison he'd have to drink.

* * *

There were loose ends. More than he had expected. Loghain knew that Anora was adept at politics, but he had to admit that the tangled mess that he had left behind was nearly beyond deciphering. The worst part of it was how much of it he himself was having trouble translating. Rendon Howe had his fingers deep into everything it seemed. It was a twisted ruin of political promises and threats that would take time to unravel. It would be some time before he was able to leave Ferelden, orders or not.

Loghain was reminded, as he sifted through the mounds of crypt letters and missives, how truly grateful he was for Kya's intervention. If Rendon had his way, it appeared there would have been poison to drink, even without the darkspawn blood. He had his sights set higher than Loghain even imagined. Being the Teryn of Highever and Arl of Denerim hadn't been enough for Howe. He'd intended to put himself on the throne.

Ferelden had a debt to the Commander of the Grey that was larger than they'd ever realize.

This duty however; it was irksome. He'd hoped that while he and Anora, and reluctantly Alistair, managed to determine how to resolve all these unanswered questions, he'd at least have the one bright spot. He'd be able to crawl into bed beside Kya in the dead of night, once his brain could no longer manage, and he'd have some bit of comfort. And a slow dance of ending, instead of an abrupt crack between them.

But there were orders for her as well, and an escort in the form of an overly enthusiastic Warden Recruit who had not yet undergone her joining. If the fool girl had any idea what was about to happen to her, he doubted her eyes would be glimmering so hopefully. But either way, she was a creature of duty, as much as Loghain and Kya were. She was chomping at the bit to get them underway.

He thought somehow that it would be easy now. There was this calm, serene place inside of him that had never been there before. It wasn't Kya herself that put it there, but he knew it was in part because of her. She had cleared away the debris of a lifetime and left him scoured clean and whole again. Even with this new acceptance, this was Rowan all over again.

But just like with Rowan, Loghain would let her go, because he had no other choice. This time, would be different, nonetheless. He would not see Kya become as they became; shells of themselves, living for nothing more than what they had to be, but inside dead and cold and bitter. Eventually, Rowan's bitterness ate her alive. He would not see that happen to Kya.

They'd had one last night together, after Alistair had let them be. They had not said one word to each other. Kya had folded her hand in his and he let her lead him to the quarters they'd been offered, guest rooms where honored nobles were kept in a silent wing of the castle. The hallways were deserted, or at least he remembered it that way. She'd been like a candle in a dark room on a cold winter night, and just as wordless.

Loghain remembered only one word from her, whispered quiet and hushed as she fell asleep finally, her back curled up against his chest, her skin still damp with his sweat.

She said his name. And that was all.

Today, she would leave for Amaranthine without him. Tonight, when his eyes refused to stay open any longer and he was forced back to that room, he would be alone. As much as he wanted to have more time, there was none. He was still trapped behind mounds of paperwork with Rendon's hateful scrawl on it as she packed her things and prepared to leave.

Kya appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost, appearing from around the corner of the bookcases. Loghain looked up, surprised that he had not heard her. She'd discarded her robes once more and wore her Dragonbone plate, no doubt left here for her by the other Wardens that traveled with them to Ostagar as they made their way back north. As if they knew this was coming, and Loghain wasn't entirely uncertainly that they had not known.

Her hair was tied back practically at the nape of her neck, but those same errant locks of hair as always had already worked their way loose, one on either side of her face and a few clinging to the soft skin of her neck. She wore her sword and shield strapped to her back already, as if she was heading directly into battle, not just on the long road back to Vigil's Keep.

"It's time," she said softly, her voice cracking with the effort. Loghain frowned as she swallowed.

He nodded and stood, coming around the desk to stand beside her. "We come to it at last then," he said.

"Are you sure I can't try to intervene on your behalf?" she asked. She asked him a thousand times the night before without speaking; she'd asked with her eyes and her body and eventually with her tears as she fell asleep with his name on her lips.

"No," he said. "They are probably right after all. I _would _interfere, if only with my mere presence."

Kya nodded. "I know," she sighed. "I do." It looked then as if she was about to leave, without another word and disappear. Loghain grabbed her arm as she started to turn.

"Wait," he managed. His voice sounded strange to his ears. "Before you go, I have a promise to make and a promise to ask."

She swallowed hard again, but did not look at him. As if she couldn't look at him.

"Please Kya," Loghain whispered. "Look at me."

Hesitantly, she turned back to him; this time he could clearly hear the odd dull clink of the plates of her armor moving against each other. She met his eyes, breathing hard, as if it was the most difficult thing she had ever done. This woman had faced the Archdemon and hadn't wavered. Loghain's heart thudded helplessly in the cage of his ribs.

"Before I leave for Orlais," he began, sliding his hand down the cold plate of her armor and happy to find she had not yet put on her gauntlets. "I will come to Amaranthine. To say goodbye. I promise this to you," he said.

Kya nodded sadly. Her gaze slid down to where his hand now held hers for a moment before her eyes met his again. "I'd like that," she said, equally quiet.

"But I also need you to promise me something," he said. She looked uncertain for a split second, but then squared her shoulders and gave him the best smile she could muster.

"For you," she said. "Anything."

Loghain smiled, despite his heart telling him otherwise. "Then promise me one thing; don't be like me. Don't let this do to you, what it did to me." She looked almost puzzled but didn't speak. "Because I can't bear to think of another life wasted on my behalf," he continued.

Kya opened her mouth to speak then, but he shushed her with his fingers across her lips. She kissed his fingers and he closed his eyes for moment, drinking in the sensation.

"I spent most of my life pining for what was not to be. I became a thing that was only bitterness and regret," he explained. "Because I was weak, and because I didn't know what love was." He paused, sliding his hand from her lips to cradle the side of her face. "But I know now. Love is not about possessing what you love. And it is not painfully doing _your duty_ in spite of it. Even when things are not to be, love doesn't die."

He leaned forward and kissed her once and then twice on her cold, tense lips.

"We don't have any more time," he continued. "But that does not make the time we had mean any less. It will only be lessened if as time goes on, it becomes a bitter thing, instead of sweet. All my life I thought love had made me weak. Love makes you stronger; I know that now."

Loghain looked at her closely. Of all the bits of wisdom he'd acquired in his life, this was the hardest lesson. One harshly fought battle indeed. He only hoped she could learn with less years and hardship than he had. He smiled at her and she echoed the expression. It was a sad smile for them both, but a true one.

"So promise me," he said. "When I come to see you before I leave, I want to know that my loving you made you stronger, not weak. I want to know that loving me made you less bitter, not more. And if when this old man barges in and kisses you, if there's an irritated young man looking on . . . ." Loghain grinned. "Then all the better."

Kya bit her lip and it made her smile crooked.

"I promise," she said. "I love you Loghain." Despite her smile, a tear spilled down her cheek.

"I love you too, Kya," he smiled. He wiped away her tear and kissed her again, just this one last time.

When he saw her again, it could only be an echo of this moment. They could profess love and make love, and certainly they would, he had no doubt. But this moment was the last of that time he'd asked for.

"_What I want to know is if you are? For what little time that we might have, I want to know if you are mine."_

"_Completely."_

And so she had been, both body and soul, the blood and taint of Kya Amell had belonged to Loghain Mac Tir for a time. A better time than he'd ever expected to have in this over long life of his. Finally, he could say with no uncertainly that he _had_ deserved it after all.

* * *

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_A/N This is the end of Sensible Creatures. _

_But it is hardly the end of Kya Amell. The Commander of the Grey is a stubborn woman, and she has things to do yet. And Loghain? He does have a promise to keep, after all._

_I want to thank everyone who read and commented, and even those that just were moved but didn't let me know about it. I hope that you enjoyed the redemption of Loghain Mac Tir. After a lifetime of service and sacrifice, I thought he deserved more than death on the floor of the Landsmeet. _

_He deserved some peace at last. _

_Loghain once said, "Peace just means fighting someone else's enemies in someone else's war for someone else's reasons." _ _But even he can be wrong, and he is usually willing to admit it. _

_I think finally, even he knows better._


End file.
